For the last three years, my husband and I have been modeling together. If you’d told teen me that I’d be doing this, I’d have probably gasped in shock and fainted dramatically.
Growing up queer in the North of England in the ‘90s, I was a natural introvert and like many other queer kids, I was bullied and made to feel completely worthless. Being different meant I stood out, but all I wanted to do was fade into the background.
When I moved to London when I was 20 for university, I started to become more confident. I partied, I hooked up with a lot of men. Whereas before I stuck to black for fear of drawing unwanted attention, I started to wear actual color in my clothes. University meant I could reinvent myself, and that started with bright, graphic t-shirts.
But there was always this feeling that I wasn’t good enough, that I was inferior. Sure, I had moments of joy, particularly when I met my husband at 24, but my confidence remained at nearly zero. The bullies had gotten into my head, leaving a filthy, oozing trail of trauma in their wake. They had told me I was a worthless piece of shit, and I believed them.
The modeling happened randomly. A friend of my husband’s, who worked as a wedding photographer, randomly asked if we’d do a last-minute shoot. I immediately said no. Even thinking about being the center of attention was immensely triggering for me. Why would I voluntarily put myself in a situation where people would judge me?
After some gentle encouragement, I went along and did it. If it weren’t for the fact we were living with my husband’s grandmother during most of the pandemic—which was as tough as you’d imagine—I don’t think any amount of persuading would have worked. But I was desperate for a change of scenery at that point.
There were about 15 photographers shooting us on that day and, though I felt overwhelmed at first, I ended up really getting into it. This fucked-up person who had spent years just wanting to be invisible was not only a natural at doing the exact opposite but actually enjoyed it.
I felt strong and fierce in my everyday life. But recently, I’ve been doubting it all.
Maybe it was the play-acting that made me feel this way. Becoming another person does wonders for those who are otherwise shy or deeply self-conscious. Just look at Beyonce, who’s on record saying that performing helps her shyness. Not that I’d dare compare myself to Beyonce.
Since 2020, my husband and I have continued modeling together and it’s become not only a viable business, but a huge help in quieting those demonic voices in my head. A big part of that is making me feel more empowered as a queer person.
As our brand has grown, we’ve become quite well-known in the industry for throwing the rulebook out when it comes to gender. Now, you’ll find us doing such things as modeling couture gowns on the busy streets of London. Neither of us envisioned the modeling going in this direction, but I’m so glad it has. The more I oppose the rules placed on queer people to look a certain way, the more I oppose those voices that told me I was worthless.
For a while, I felt strong and fierce in my everyday life, as well as in front of the camera. I genuinely believe that modeling has helped me deal with my trauma. Recently, however, I’ve been doubting it all. If a photographer told me I was beautiful even a year ago, I believed it, but now, I’m just suspicious. Now all I do is obsess over my physical faults.
Part of the job is spending hours staring at pictures of ourselves, deciding which ones are best and then posting them on Instagram (our “portfolio”). As models, we spend so much time analyzing the way we look, so it was only a matter of time before the negative voices reappeared. All I see when we comb through pictures now is the lack of definition to my face, dark under-eyes, and thin upper lip. My husband tells me I look stunning; I think I look like a fucked-up, bloated potato. I see an imposter—someone who shouldn’t be a model. I put a lot of pressure on myself to be the best I can be, which is me trying to prove the haters wrong. I see the sharp cheekbones many models sport and think that if I don’t look like them, then I’m failing.
It’s gotten so bad that I’m now considering getting some “work done”: Botox around the eyes, some filler in my lips and perhaps cheeks. It feels like if I just get these things fixed, I will suddenly feel the best I’ve ever felt and that will last forever. But I know that’s not the reality. I know that if I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop and that what needs fixing is primarily on the inside, not the outside.
The thing is, though, I’m all for fixing yourself if you’re not happy with the way you look—you only get one life right? We live in a world that has normalized changing the way you look and I think many people feel empowered, rather than manipulated by it. But you are entering very dangerous territory if what really needs working on is your mental health.
Still, I really don’t want to give it up. I’ve never felt so empowered and ultimately I’ve grown immensely as a person. Looking back at some of the shoots we’ve done, I can’t believe how far that bullied little kid has come. It’s amazing. But my mental health is suffering, and I don’t want to go back to feeling as self-conscious as I used to.
I think that for now, I’m going to work through it. I’ve had some counseling and am doing other things that help with my confidence, like a stand-up comedy course. I’m taking care of my mental health, whilst continuing to do something that has brought significant value to my life. I must also be kinder to myself with the modeling, remembering that I’m still figuring things out.
As for sticking needles in my face, I’m still strongly considering it, but before jumping into anything, I’ll make sure I lead with my head, rather than my heart. I want to be able to see who I really am when I look in the mirror, not who the haters see, and if that face still needs a bit of a touch-up, then so be it. But, you know…something subtle.
