Being a Leg Model

Life is stranger than fiction

My undergrad years were really interesting. I went to college at the University of Central Florida and for the first couple years, I pissed away all the money my Dad had set aside for my education. As a result of a lot of soul searching, I decided to complete my undergrad. I had to work, though. My Dad said he did his part, now I need to do mine. Let me tell you, working to put yourself through college AND taking a full class load was hard. The adage goes, stupid people work harder. I can personally vouch for that.

I had many gigs through college. I was a doorman at a hotel for a time, a bouncer at many different clubs, I had my own car detailing business - which I’m still pretty good at, and one time, I was a leg model. Yeah, you read that right. A leg model.

I was a bouncer at a club called Embassy for about a year, starting in 1998. I was also about to start my final year of college and really wanted to get on with my life. Embassy hosted many different types of events. Concerts, all ages dance parties, normal club nights, and even Chippendale. One night, there was a model search event at the club. It was a huge success with many people showing up and signing up. For the bouncer/security crew, it was a really quiet night. The people that showed up were not ones looking for trouble. They wanted to get their faces or bodies in front of talent scouts.

I was called to help out at the door, herding would be models through to the sign up table near the bar of the club. It was pretty straight forward. Standing behind me was one of the modeling agency staff. She suggested that I sign up as well.

“Me? For modeling? No way. Ain’t happening,” I heard myself say.

After an entire night of coaxing, I relented and signed up. I got a call the next morning to come in to the agency for an interview and some basic ‘looks’. That was the term they used to describe the process of agency staff grading the potential of a person to be a model. Whatever it was, it was their process so, I did it. I had no idea what kind of model they were thinking I’d be.

I did a could of still poses and walked a mock-up of a runway. I was just wearing my normal clothes but I felt pretty uncomfortable. The lady that asked me to sign up came in the room and asked me to take of my shirt, then my jeans. I was really uncomfortable at that point. I did what she asked and was wearing just my boxers. She asked me to walk the runway again. I made it down to the end, turned and came back. In the time it took me to walk to the end, she was joined by two other women. Three women staring at me felt awkward.

For those of you that know me, I was a little more muscular when I was younger. I worked out a lot and paid a lot of attention to my skinny legs. Yeah, I’m one of those guys that looked like he skipped leg day all the time. It was quite the opposite. I worked my legs extremely hard but they refused to grow at the same pace as my upper body. Before long, I was quite uneven. Still, my legs were lean, decently shaped, and extremely strong.

She waved at me to get dressed and join the three of them in her office. When I arrived, they informed me that I did not have the look of a face model or a shirtless model but I could be used as a leg model and a hand model. I had no idea there were even such people but obviously, there are. How else can you advertise socks or hand soap? I remember asking what the hell a leg model does. They broke it to me gently.

They wanted to use me a leg model for pantyhose.

I refused immediately. It took an hour to convince me to do it and the hook was the money. They told me if my pictures sold, they would pay me $10 per picture. I asked them about how many pictures would be sold, of course. The average, they said, was between 100 and 200 pictures. Now, to me and in the late 1990s, that was a huge sum of money. I could pay most of my tuition for the next year with that kind of dough. I did it. I signed up with the agency and she became my manager.

Not going to lie, the pantyhose felt pretty comfortable but I had to wear high heels with it. Heels, to me, are made by the Devil. End of story. Some people love them, some don’t. I hated them. It took forever, the better part of seven hours for them to coach me through how and when to flex different parts of my legs, how to walk lightly, and prep my legs for pictures. They shaved and scrubbed my legs, sprayed them with a glossy tanning something-or-other, and made sure the pantyhose was on right. I think they took over 1,000 pictures that day. When they were done, they thanked me for my time and would inform me if and when the pictures sold.

A week later, they called. They sold 170 pictures to different clients and companies. That was a huge haul and decided to try modeling more, if I could. But, this is where it gets weird and gross.

My new manager called me a few weeks after I got paid for the pictures they took of me. I went back in to the agency to meet her. She wanted to to the same thing with my hands and maybe do a shoot if a few months of my legs at a beach (similar to the concept of the Corona commercials with just legs on the beach). She told me that she wanted to see my legs personally on the sand.

“When are you going to the beach next?” I remember her asking.

Turns out, I was heading to the beach that weekend and she said it was imperative that she go with me. I frowned at that but what did I know about the modeling business? Nothing.

Beach day arrived and she called asking me to pick her up at her house. I found that a little unusual but I did. She came out, not in the business suit I was expecting but full beach gear, alcohol, and no camera. I became a little confused. When we got to the beach, it got weirder and a little gross. She insisted on applying sunscreen. She wanted me to put it on her and her to put it on me. I refused and asked about the legs on the beach thing.

“That’s not going to happen until you do some things for me,” she said.

“Like what?”

“What do you think?” she said with a wink.

“Oh no. No, no, no. Out of the question,” I responded.

She explained at length that the modeling business worked in such ways. Agency managers could open many doors but needed some additional incentives to do so. She was in an unhappy marriage and an incentive she wanted was sex. I refused again and called an end to beach day. I felt so gross after I dropped her off and returned home. No amount of showering made me feel clean. Gross. What women models must endure makes bile rise in my throat.

A few months went by without hearing a word from her or the agency. I called a few times and after the fourth call, some other person came on the line and told me I was no longer needed for modeling legs. The man on the line informed me that my legs were getting a little to bulky and masculine for continued work. A quick thank you and a click later, my modeling came to an end.

So much the better. I never even tried to model after that. I paid almost half of my final year of tuition with the money I made and graduated in 1999.