****
So, I am watching this PBS special about “The Future of Work” and see, among other things, a model concerned for the future of her career choice when a photographer–who looks like a blend of a certain chubby late-night-talk-show host, Benny Hill** and Andy Warhol–is turning images of real, living models into “avatars” and CG presentations.
[I’m also first hearing about something called a “digital nomad” which appears to be nothing more than a photographer and YouTube/Instagram video maker who totes a “smartphone” and a rather large digital camera to capture everything he/she does while traveling the world. How exactly is that a career, and who pays the salary? How are you not just “working on commission?” How do you process tax papers with that line of work; where’s the W-2 form in that?]
**Eesh! I’m realizing people under 40 probably have no clue who Benny Hill is. Oh well.
I ask what is the point of turning real models into digital mannequins. It’s too much license to mess with what the artists are calling realistic synthetic modeling. I mean…does that even make sense; realistic and synthetic in the same sentence? Isn’t this the mouse and the cookie? If you make a digital figurine, you’re going to want to augment him/her and get sucked into perfecting the art.
Women are already struggling with being accepted, equated with their male coworkers. Models and gymnasts, for examples, are beaten into submission to maintain a certain dimension of physique, which is why NOW we are first seeing rebellious models who defy the old standards. And, just as that’s happening, we’re going to turn real models into CG replacements?
Don’t you think viewing digital models will mess with people’s already fragile self-esteem? Now, people will envy a fake person instead of a real one (who may or may not have had her/his image altered with an airbrush tool and/or other computer applications). That’s no different than seeing a white plaster mannequin in a department store (which is already going the way of the dinosaurs). That’s not a realistic figure wearing the clothes I want to buy; I’m not going to look like that in that outfit. It’s a dummy; and, last I checked in the mirror, I may be foolish at times, but I’m no dummy.
I understand one possible explanation if we take into account present circumstances. Right now, in this “pandemic,” travel and being hands-on with other people is a bit of a taboo. It’s risky to get that close to anyone, especially if you’re traveling and interacting with numerous people. So, if you need to keep modeling but cannot travel, for whatever reason, you supply a digital representation of yourself to stand-in for that role; you essentially lend an alternative you to perform certain tasks.
[Buuut, shouldn’t that virtual model still look like you? If it’s another person, entirely, what’s to stop someone from cutting your check a little smaller, each time, until you get paid nothing? Did YOU make the digital model of yourself? Or, did some “agent” take full care of that task?]
But, again, that’s not the real you. You get away with never worrying about adding an inch to your waistline and pretending you’re always that pretty. But, it’s not you. And, the more you get comfortable with “faking it,” the less you’re going to like/accept reality. I don’t know about you, but that sounds like yet another recipe for a not-too-slow burn to suicide.
Why do so many stories about stage plays involve actors and actresses who turn bitter toward stand-ins? The “stars” don’t want to be replaced; they don’t want to lose their careers just because some newcomer got a free audition on their shift. But, in modeling, the new CG model WOULD be a replacement, a stand-in. Sure, real models could potentially claim ownership of their digital counterparts, but, somehow, I expect some “legal loophole” to appear that just as easily takes away a real model’s rights and puts all the power in the hands of the CG artists.
If you think about this another way, what’s the difference between painting a portrait and taking a photograph of someone? A painting is an investment of time and testament of skill with the hand (or whatever you might use to paint) and, usually, very fussy materials, producing one image of a real object or creature on a “canvas.” A photograph (one that is not later edited, to be specific) represents one’s skill with composition and their eye for details, like lighting, in the blink of an eye, a precise moment of attention focused on a subject.
Now, take away the time it takes to make a painting and the skill of the hand. Just give me a button to push and watch me turn something into a painting. What skill did I hone? What did I learn? Nothing. Someone else made the thing that made the painting for me; I just pushed a button. I might still get some money for my “work,” but not as much as the guy (or gal) who designed the instant-gratification tool.
[And, if you don’t mind the labor, look at the other option. Take away the quick-action cameras and force yourself to paint a photograph. How long will it take you to make the image look as clear and real as what you see with your own eyes? Go ahead and share your struggles; I’ll be patient (or impatient) with you.]
Here’s my…um…solution?
If everyone’s idea of “work” is getting a radical makeover, due to this “pandemic,” then it’s about time we start thinking of models as not just people posing for a camera (and worrying about the condition of their bodies) but people who act, think and speak as MODEL HUMAN BEINGS, as well. Let’s tear apart the outdated fragility and simplicity of modeling and turn it into an empowering art form.
Models don’t have to just be “perfect” photographs and runway candy. They can be MUSES who inspire not just career and fashion choices but lifestyle choices and outlooks. [If you’re a pretty face and, yet, a “bitch” and/or someone with a bad habit perpetually caught on camera, you might attract someone’s attention for a minute or be prodded to misbehave for someone’s amusement…but you won’t likely be “loved” for your behavior/foul attitude.]
Actually, can we just be totally honest for a minute? Have fashion models ever shown someone they can look as good in an outfit? If you’re lucky, you’ve got a figure LIKE a particular model; you might have the same skin tone, waistline or whatever, but you’re never THAT model. The clothes won’t fit your body exactly the same way. What size are you? It doesn’t matter. You could be two women who wear the same size dress and receive differing opinions in that dress. Nothing a model has to offer visually truly reflects what you will have, see or be if you try to copy that model. The model, in essence, remains an inspiration (or idol/ideal), not a proven or guaranteed test result.
Instead of dragging yourself down into thinking you need to eat like a bird and put up with abusive management to look good, let anyone who wants to appear in photos (and other forms of media) be a model of what they view as good, moral behavior. Let’s curb our bad habits and vices by being honest about our weaknesses while portraying ourselves as the people we want others to emulate. [Don’t fake anything.]
[And, for crying out loud, let’s get over this hump of making every public appearance into a job interview, praising our coworkers/bosses and trying to perfect a “resume” or “portfolio.” If you have issues with your coworker or boss, be honest about it! Let’s stop slapping red ink on people for voicing their discomfort and/or disapproval. You’re not unfit to work someplace just because your last boss was a jerk (in your opinion) or you were involved in a scandal; that does not adequately reflect your value nor your limits.]
If you weigh over 150 lbs. and have “baggage,” you could still be a model if you felt your “comfortable” lifestyle was worth mentioning. Tell the world how your choices have brought you success and/or happiness (without fabricating and/or exaggerating just to impress). Model your achievements and contentment. [If you are NOT content/comfortable, then you might reconsider modeling because you’re never going to look naturally “good” in photos; your discomfort will show.] Be a ROLE model.
If you truly eat right, stay active and generally feel good about your life, show it off (without boasting/flaunting). After all, what is the purpose of modeling?…to inspire others, particularly inspiring them to go after what a model displays, their fashions and/or physiques. If your choices work for you, and you’d like others to follow in your footsteps, display that.
[However, don’t try to convince anyone that your particular choices are going to work for them. Remember my previous dress analogy; what works for one person isn’t exactly going to satisfy another. It’s just a suggestion and what made one particular person “glow” for you.]
[Sadly, the current trend of “influencing” via “smartphones” is not sufficient for this task, contributing to laziness and low self-esteem; too many are sucked into the LIKE-ing and FOLLOW-ing system and staring mindlessly at small screens. I don’t think that is helping anyone. It’s a sort of vicarious living. We need to take the role-modeling–which, lately, seems to be glamorizing laziness and careless exposure–off the small screen and put it somewhere people can be inspired to act on their desires (without harming themselves).]
MODEL YOURSELF.
Show yourself off as you want the world to see you and find pride in that. [But, do not find the sort of pride that inflates your head to the point of stepping on others “below” you.] And, this way, anyone can be a model, not just a photographed “ideal” (subject to opinion…because–let’s be honest–beauty truly is in the eye of the beholder…and not all model photos are what I’d call tasteful nor respectable).
Does this endanger or improve the number of slots for models? You figure it out. [I just told you.]
Let’s turn MODELS into ROLE MODELS.
It’s a job upgrade, not down-sizing. You’re sure to get paid more because you’re giving more of yourself than just a perfected image. You’re not valued solely for your looks which are subject to aging. [And, if anyone tries to put/bring you down, you just stand up and let that fool bounce right off your impressive profile. That foul behavior is just one person’s opinion.] You’ll never outlive your career because it travels with you for as long as you live. You won’t be forgotten after turning a certain age (because you no longer match a photo from thirty years ago). You’ll be forever remembered by those who value you as a person.
[That’s how I value women like Tyra Banks and Heidi Klum. They’re not just “centerfolds” (and I wouldn’t even feel right displaying those photos). They have exhilarating personalities and, I’m sure (though I haven’t had much chance to “live with them”), more to capture my awe than just a pretty face. I’ll be honest, their faces, regardless of age, still have a certain sparkle. They could be couch potatoes who have the worst eating habits, and I’d still find reason to admire them because they’re “real” and outspoken, not afraid to speak their minds (though, occasionally, they appear a bit rude and/or insensitive). If all they had to offer were a few preened photographs, I’d toss them aside or hang them up with the other fantasies and never know their true worth.]
Some might say my idea is just as bad for self-esteem. Now, models have to be concerned with their way of living, not just their appearances on camera? Aspiring models might give up trying because they think less of themselves, because they can’t match the colorful lifestyles of the people they admire, because they don’t feel as if they have lives worth promoting?
Okay. Well, you could look at this as intimidation…or you could look at it as bolstering what makes you a model (worth respecting, instead of just marketing and scrutinizing).
If all you have to offer, right now, is your “face,” then maybe you get in the “pretty faces only” line and foolishly try to keep that face from losing its smooth luster. You can throw in another heap of insecurity as opinions of your “pretty face” continue to differ; you might get approved and work with one studio while rejected by another (or others). It’s a gamble (versus a sure thing: being you).
[Is plastic/cosmetic surgery, bent on imperfectly preserving your looks while walking the path of aging, healthy or natural? And, if you subject yourself to such surgery, are you fixing a one-time “incident,” trying to alter your nature or hoping to constantly remake something that refuses to take the perfect shape you never quite seem able to see?]
The legend of Hercules (or Heracles) didn’t happen in one day. Many tales were written about his life. His legendary status came from a lifetime of activity, of modeling his choices. He was a noteworthy celebrity and a role model in his own way (whether or not you think he was a real person).
Sure; you’ll have more competition. But, everyone is also free to choose what models they want to emulate, not just limited to a handful of this year’s “hot properties.” You’ll have greater freedom to live as you desire. And, ultimately, won’t that make us all feel better about this life?
Boom. Suicide and eating-disorder statistics reduced. The general health and well-being of modern human life improved.
Writingbolt's Creation 
Blogging at Homes in the 21st Century
Tags: blog, blogging, comment, creative, drone, drug, favorite, fiction, follow, following, future, futuristic, humor, internet, like, modern, movie, online, opinion, post, posting, privacy, probe, science fiction, spy, story, thoughts, tracking, writing
If you’re just joining the rest of the world in its present state, welcome to the modern world of sharing one’s thoughts via computer in the 21st century. I’m not exactly Mr. Popular. My online postings are typically spontaneous criticisms/philosophies and personal reflections. ‘Not recipes, advice columns, diet or travel journals, religious passages, school calendars, video links or art galleries (which are apparently far more common and popular). So, when I find someone new “following” my blips in the “social media” universe, I have to wonder what made something I shared so interesting.
Most of the time, these “followers” say nothing. And, more often than not, they come with these unusual corporate identities involving everything from hair care to home construction to pharmaceuticals. I suspect this is due to the addition of what we now call “tags” to my posts, or blog/journal entries. A key word might send a signal to some company’s radar system which then sends a team of robots or specialists (PC zombies swiveling mindlessly in their chairs while fumbling with something between their fingers) into action.
As it turns out, that’s just what happened to me recently. And, here’s that story:
It was a mild April afternoon when I felt compelled to pass along a few thousand words about my distrust of modern medicine and disgust with all the commercials rambling about terrifying side-effects (which are necessary to know in advance though they should neither exist nor make people their lab rats). The following afternoon, I discovered a young man with a shaved head and sunglasses–going by the name Barry Swan Pharmaceuticals–“following” my blog. “Well, that’s…interesting,” I muttered before taking a moment to fetch some lunch.
Just as I closed the fridge, I heard a knock at the front door. A stranger–faintly resembling the young man in the picture (with a fuller head of dark brown hair and more flesh in his cheeks)–stood outside in a midnight blue suit (a “twinge” lighter than black in the daylight). I hesitated to answer, fearing all sorts of uncomfortable chats I might end up having. As I withdrew, he knocked, again, stalling me in my tracks. I proceeded to the kitchen where I then heard a loud “clang” or “clap” and jumped back to find the front door ajar. The unknown man remained silent but now visibly restless on the other side. I took a deep breath and confronted the uninvited guest to my doorstep. “Uh. Hi. What can–what is it you wanted?”
Adjusting the clipboard in his pale, waxy hands, the man began, “Mr. (Writingbolt)? I’m here to talk to you about a convenient medical supply service we just recently started and why you should sign up–for a nominal fee–to have any prescriptions you might need right to your doorstep.”
“I-I’m sor– I don’t– I’m not a retiree avoiding nursing homes like the plague.” I clasped my left hand around the outer edge of the door and eased it ahead of the adjacent shoulder. “I’m not even in my forties, yet. Isn’t that what you guys always ask about in your commercials? Being over forty?”
“Mr. (Writingbolt), we’re not so concerned with your age at this moment. The entire nation is getting on board with the new medical insurance system. We’d just like your signature so we can proceed with adding you to our database of potential customers. And, then I’ll be out of your hair. By the way, we sell products for improving the quality and quantity of your hair, too, if you’re interested.”
“Yeah…no thanks. Sorry. Some other time, perhaps.” I don’t know why I even bothered to use such courtesy. As I shut the inner door in his face, I saw him raise an index finger and felt a cold wave of air rush up along my neck and the back of my hand. I didn’t give the whole scene a second thought. [At least, not for the next few minutes.]
Weeks rolled by, and I continued to find new and questionable faces (and some icons instead of faces) tracing my online activity. It’s not the first time such oddities have carried over into my e-mail (electronic mail) box. I’m not surprised (anymore) to find ads for male enhancements and the like though I am grateful most of these get automatically swept into what’s known as the junk folder.
Then, one evening, I thought I saw a car drive by the house with a curious shift in speed. Its headlights slowed to a crawl and then zipped out of sight with an unusual engine sound. Poking my nose through the sheer curtains, I looked for some trace glow of a tail light. All I could see were the amber glows of the aging streetlights and a reflection cast by the table lamp at my back. I lingered for a while, waiting to see if some wild animal might surprise me. [It’s not uncommon for a deer, goose or fox to cross the front lawn.]
Just as I was about to give up my vigil, a searchlight stream cut across my left shoulder. Shielding my eyes, I let go of the curtains and moved toward the table lamp. When my vision cleared, I squinted through the veil and noticed a dark object–roughly the size of a small charcoal grill–hovering outside the window. Another crossed behind the first and curved over the roof. I was only able to make out the shape because the bright beacon had been dimmed. And, now, I could see a small red “eye” glaring at me near the UFO’s base. [Except, this UFO was not from some other planet. It was a “domestic” disturbance of my peace.]
The moment I lowered my guard, the “drone” buzzed back a few feet and began peppering the windows with gunfire. Running down an adjacent corridor to my master bedroom, I noticed one of these flying probes scanning the items laid out on my dresser. A little alarm went off, and the drone paused its data collection to turn its targeting sensors onto me.
Before another window could be shattered, I turned and ducked into the nearest bathroom where no natural light could enter. Here I thought I’d be safe for a moment, at least. I expected to hear police sirens if anyone reported the sounds of gunfire like good neighbors. But, as I counted the beats of my heart, the lagging silence became unnerving. Eventually, I rose from my crouched position beside the toilet and tiptoed back to the picture window where my hands shook as I cautiously fingered the finely cut bullet holes. [Luckily, I had come away from the incident without a scratch.]
I sat down with a book of crossword puzzles and a cup of hot…beverage…for a half-hour before I finally heard a police car easing down my street. The mustached officer waited for me at the front door, and, this time, I didn’t hesitate to answer. But, the questions he proceeded to ask became increasingly uncomfortable. After getting a detailed description of the drone activity, the policeman inquired about my medical insurance plan. At that moment, I decided to cut the interrogation short and excuse myself to take a leak. Officer Ginsborough…or Gingerpecker…told me to watch what I “go around discussing” whether or not I do it online. Then he folded his notepad, settled for a courteous “goodnight” and returned to his station. [Suffice to say, sleep did not come easy neither that night nor any night the following week. It took me two weeks just to get the picture window replaced and two more to afford the bill.]
The next time I had the irrepressible urge to vent my frustrations online, a few days passed before I had another uninvited drone party outside my home. I could barely utter my disapproval before more gunfire sent me diving for protection. This time, they brought some sort of saw and began cutting away a portion of the roof. A brief “whomp”–followed by faint footsteps–sprang from the back door, tugging at my left ear. I felt the warmth from a pair of searchlights before a foreign pair of delicate hands shoved me aside.
Catching a glimpse of curling brown strands–burning red-orange in the path of the probing beacons–I couldn’t focus on the woman’s face as she huffed, “Stay with me if you want to live.”
[And, if you’ve seen your share of sci-fi/action films, you probably can guess how the rest of this story goes. I’ll leave it to your imagination as I remind all of you in the land of blog to be mindful of what you make public from the comfort and convenience of your personal (or office) computers. Those “drones”…they’re practically everywhere. You keep your eyes open and your mouth shut if you know what’s good for ya. But, if you’re going to “follow” or “like” someone’s post, be sure to leave a personalized comment, discussing your interest in the matter. Otherwise, you–and especially I–may never know what’s lurking in the digital shadows.]
~Writingbolt, 4-25-2014