Miss Chevious

Earlier this week I did a shoot for Miss Chevious clothing. It was another saccharine sweet, smiley jobs involving a mini trampolie. My specialty. The studio wasn't in the best part of town, I had to step over a homeless guy on the sidewalk who greeted me goodmorning with the deepest, raspiest voice that would put Tom Waits to shame. But inside, the studio was an open live/work space with the makeup counter next to the kitchen. Vintage couches, a red table and antique chandeliers accented the studio. Our photographer, Brett, looked like Justin Timberlake plus ten years and complained about a hangover from his birthday party the night before. Since models are not supposed to wear makeup in the morning when we go to shoots, I looked like a plain-faced twelve-year-old boy and I think Brett initially wrote me off and took to talking to the other blone model. After a quick pass through hair and makeup, Brett took one look and said "Wow you're like a different person!". Yeah, thanks, I know. The shoot got started, and for some reason the sample sizes were extra small. I have no idea how the other model, who had breasts that were significantly larger mine, fit into the clothes. She was cute, but in front of the camera she froze and gave the 'first time' teen pornstar grin for every shot. By the end of the day Brett was following me around taking candid photos around set. He showed me a review of the pics he had taken and was saying that every shot was great and could be used, and then we came across a photo of the other girl and he made an 'euuhhgg' sound. Aw wellz.