The Lost Boy

My first (and last) casting: How do Thailand's models do it?

“It’ll only take 20 minutes,” I was assured. Two hours later and I had to hotfoot it back across Bangkok and think of a feasible excuse as to why I’d taken an extended lunch break.

I’d describe my first (and last) casting as one of the most uncomfortable situations of my time in Thailand. The whole thing was farcical, not least of all because I was there. Do I look like a model? A friend of a friend had called me and said I could make 40,000 baht for a day’s work. It sounded to me like I’d just have some photos taken and get paid, and 40,000 baht is close to a month’s salary for me. I’d initially said I wouldn’t do it, but the friend of a friend had told me that if I didn’t go his company would lose the contract. This turned out to be a lie (or a “Thailand truth”), as when I arrived there were more than ten other people sitting around. I was already irate because I was on my lunch break, but I began feeling uneasy at the looks these other “models” were giving me. What makes you guys so special, I thought; if I’m here you guys must be the as me!

I sat down and listened to their conversations – which were all about modeling – and I watched them. None of them looked like models – some of them, I’d say, were even less model-like than me. “They just want to meet you,” the friend of a friend had said. Who wants to meet me? I thought to myself.

I mulled the idea of blagging it and pretending like I really had a clue what was going on, but the will to do so soon left me. I waited and waited. Then I had makeup applied and I waited some more. They sat me down at a computer and said I could use the internet while I waited. I just want to go back to work, I said silently.

“You didn’t shave,” observed the friend of a friend. “I’ve been busy,” I replied.

My time eventually came and I was led to a room. The guy in charge of everything greeted me with an enthusiasm that quickly vapourised once he realised I was just some guy off the street (more or less). “What agency are you with?” he asked. “Agency?” I said. “Do you have a picture?” he asked. “A picture of what?” I said.

It dawned on me what was going on: I was being cast for a TV advertisement. I stood holding my name on a piece of paper and said who I was, my age, weight, height (I was sure of my age, but little else). I posed and made mean faces (that’s what you’re supposed to do, right?). Then came the defining moment: I had to walk over to a sofa and pretend like I was flirting with an invisible girl, but then my invisible girlfriend was set to walk in and I had to act like I was surprised and stunned at being caught in the act – an invisible calamity! I messed it up twice, and on the third try I think the crew finally gave up hope and I was sent on my way.

The life of a Bangkok model is not for me. It was utterly mind-numbing and I met too many people whose feigned pleasure at seeing me had made me feel uncomfortable. The modeling agency was somewhere in Eakamai. Suffice to say, the whole experience was a waste of time and they didn’t call me back. If you want to come to Thailand and be a model, you can make a lot of money. That’s pretty much all there is to it. The fact that I could do it if I didn’t suck at talking to invisible people so much shows you that anyone could do it.

Someone called me last week and asked me to be in a tennis commercial. “On a scale of one to ten, how good would you say you are at tennis,” said the man. “Umm, maybe six or seven,” I replied. “Great!” he shouted. I said I’d go just to get him off my case, but I missed the casting; I didn’t fancy turning up in tennis clothes and making a fool of myself.

Techno' tags: Bangkok, Thailand, Modeling