Modeling is a Dog’s Life.

A few months ago, I shared with you the inner thoughts of indignant models. Their expressions said it all – we felt their sadness, their resentment, and their rage over what they’d been forced to wear.

Two days after publishing that post, all of the model’s heads were mysteriously cropped out of the new batch of HauteLook photos. Do I think HauteLook read my blog and made a procedural change to rid themselves of the negativity emanating from their models? Probably not. Is it a very strange coincidence? Most definitely.

However, they do occasionally still let the faces of their models be experienced.

And last week, I met a brand new set of models. Models that seemed no happier at where their career had led them than the first batch.

Yet these models were dogs. The happiest creatures on earth. Supposedly.

But you know how to depress the happiest creatures on earth? Dress them like humans – the saddest creatures on earth.


Strip them of their canine pride and castrate them into short and overly hairy humans and watch their effervescent joy vanish instantaneously.


To further add to the humiliation, dress the dogs in the least flattering categories of human garments in existence today – Bridesmaid Dresses,


And scrubs.


Even the dogs that were “blessed” with the Hot Topic options looked ashamed of their forced trans-species status.


All of the poor souls looked much more like they were auditioning for an ASPCA commercial than trying to sell us these adorable outfits.


In the arms of an angel… (Or a Bedazzled Monster Shirt)


Fly away from here… (And from this potholder called a “tank”)


From this dark, cold hotel room…. (And this studio where they shove shirt after shirt over your oversized and most likely quite sensitive ears)


And the endlessness that you fear… (What you really fear is crapping on your train and not being able to rub it off when you scoot across the studio flooring)


You are pulled from the wreckage… (Or from pajamas that let your junk hang out)


Of your silent reverie…. (We all know “misery” would have been a better word than “reverie” right there but Sarah had to be all artsy and stuff – just like this clever Hawaiian-themed tank is all artsy…and stuff)


You’re in the arms of an angel…. (Or in the grip of a – what the crap is that thing?!)


May you find some comfort here… (Because nothing has ever looked more comfortable than this Blossom relic)


Some comfort here. (Unless you try to pee into your dress and then everything is going to get all moist and uncomfortable really quickly.)


After the clothing shoot, they attempted to give the dogs back their dignity in a collar photo shoot.

But it was too late. The damage was too deep, too cutting to the core of who they were.

Spend all your time waiting for that second chance… (While praying to God for deliverance from these flashy-bulb humans)


For a break that would make it okay… (Does she look like this makes it okay? She does not.)


There’s always some reason to feel not good enough… (Like the memory of all. those. dresses.)


And it’s hard at the end of the day… (Because your belly is chafed from all the wardrobe changes)


I need some distraction, oh beautiful release… (Seriously release me so I can go eat grass until I vomit) 


Memories Seep from my veins… (Of hoping desperately that the bright light would be a UFO coming to rescue me)


Let me be empty….  (Seriously I’ve had to pee for hours)


And weightless and maybe… (Maybe I’ll find a Cone of Shame to wear to feel better about myself)


I’ll find some peace tonight… (Or at least a pack of feral dogs to drink gutter water with until I forget this day)


In the Arms of an Angel. (Or this Skull and Crossbones Sweater Vest. Because all humans who wear sweater vests also just LOVE skulls and crossbones.)


For just sixty cents a day, you can rescue one of these dogs from the misery of a modeling career.

The Model’s Commentary.

I admit it. I do so much shopping on Hautelook (okay – all of my shopping), that I’ve gotten to know the models.

Each one and I have a special bond. I especially appreciate their ability to show me their true feelings about the clothes they model – because HauteLook has some awesome stuff, and they have some awful stuff. The models speak subtly with their eyes, as if they’re whispering it just to me so that their photographer can’t hear.

One of these lace shirts will make you happy and peaceful. The other will give you PMS.


Recently, I’ve gotten to know two models particularly well. Let’s call them Shelby and Chloe.

Their thoughts have been louder than usual, and I felt that they might need documenting.

Let’s start with Shelby.


Shelby’s kind of in a bad place right now…

That’s because I am NOT Wendy and I am NOT starring in a live-action filming of Peter Pan and WHAT ARE THESE THINGS THEY’VE ROPED TO MY FEET!?


Thanks, but I prefer to not wear my shower curtain.


If you’re going to make me look like Cindy Lou Who, at least give me cool hair.


This dress is camouflage. BARK camouflage. Just in case someone wants to go strapless while hunting grubs?


Oh hooray. I can get mistaken for the technician next time I take my dog to the vet.


Seriously. Seriously? This shirt looks like a mistake. From every angle. Even my thigh gap can’t fix this.


I can’t even.


Why do you hate me.IMG_0853

You found these shoes in the gardening department of Wal-Mart. Didn’t you.


So you’re saying you’re trying to pass this off as a…dress….


I quit, guys. I. Quit.


Many of us can relate to Shelby, who has landed in the employment mire of resentful resignation and acceptance, and has begun to look for a new job.

But now lets meet Chloe, who is still in a state of bewilderment at the ensembles arranged for her like a toddler with a milk crate full of Barbie clothes.


DO YOU SEE WHAT IS ON MY FEET. 1998 is on my feet.


In what world do these four pieces of clothing look normal together. I look like that crazy lady who works down at the DMV.


These pants come with a coupon for 20% off your first month at Retirement Village!


I have a 24 inch waist. TWENTY FOUR. Do you even KNOW how many carbs I gave up for that? And then you do THIS to it?!


Did you just make my belly button look off-centered? Because I think you made my belly-button look off-centered.


Please tell me you’ll be airbrushing.


I hate you so hard right now.


Let’s all take a moment to acknowledge: modeling isn’t as glamorous as we imagined. And let’s add Shelby and Chloe’s job search to our prayer lists.

Things In Which You Shouldn’t Run.


So I wear leggings as pants.

Clearly, that came as a terrible shock to many of you – at least based on the comments, the Facebook conversations, and the in-real-life justifications I’ve had to offer since making my grand admission.

So, in an effort to regain your confidence, I’d like to present you with a few “At least I don’t wear these” items, compliments of HauteLook and Target.

(I realize that I’m simply yet again setting myself up for later recants, but surely not. Surely. Not.)

I may be wearing athletic leggings as pants now, but at least I don’t wear these.


“When leggings as pants aren’t edgy enough for you anymore, try hose as pants wrapped in brightly colored Ace Bandages!”

I cannot help but wonder the state of the crotch. Are we talking mummy-in-a-diaper or celebrity peek-a-boo?

If you prefer to mix and match your hosiery and metallic Lycra, there’s this variety:


* Note: anyone without thigh gap, which includes me and 99% of the world, will get exactly one wear out of these pants before getting a run in that frighteningly thin seam.

If you prefer to look like the Tin Man halfway through the shredder rather than C-3PO, they have you covered as well.


However. Any and all leggings ever made are better than a dropped-crotch pant.


Especially a dropped-crotch sweat pant. With heeled boots.


Because nothing says “I wear granny panties and Depends and maybe Pampers too” like a crotch that intentionally comes down to your knees.

Speaking of Granny Panties.


Can anyone explain to me why you want Granny in the front, party in the back?


If you’re going to wear a thong, wear a thong. If you’re going to cover the bottom half of your rib cage with your underwear, cover the bottom half of your rib cage with your underwear. You can’t have it all.

But let’s talk about what we’ve come here to talk about: What not to wear when running.

1. Don’t wear a sports bra that looks like it may have been hired to strangle you.


2. Or a sports bra that looks like it just finished touring with Lady Gaga.


3. In general, don’t give your boobs the opportunity to jump out the top of your top. It’s not good for aerodynamics.


4. Don’t wear pants that were upcycled from your fifth grade class photo backdrop.


Because no one needs flashbacks of their pimply tween face when they see your butt.



5. Don’t wear “pants” that look like you just escaped from a cult.


Because then everyone will assume you’re running from a bearded long-haired dude with 15 wives and 167 children, and you’ll be slowed down by dozens of offers to help.

6. Running skirts are weird. And they’re weirder still if printed with a 3-D Magic Eye poster from 1992.


After all, you don’t want to make other runners go cross-eyed trying to see your secret message. Unless you’re in a race. Then by all means make the other contestants trip.

7. Shoulder Peek-A-Boo is not meant for running. We’re running, ladies, not clubbing in Miami.


8. Unless you’re thighless, Dr.-Seuss-colored vertical stripes and spandex aren’t usually a good mix.


And most importantly,

9. Do not. I say DO NOT. Run. In a Thong.


I don’t care if it claims to be a performance thong.

So what if it says it wicks moisture. Exactly where do you think it’s going to send it?!

And you think your shoes rubbing your feet can cause chafing…you do not want chafing in the places a thong can travel.

And after a marathon, no amount of laundry detergent could make that thing sterile again. Assuming it doesn’t pop and smack you in the face on mile 22.

Let’s all just agree that VPL is okay when running – because the alternatives are deadly.