Dear female models,
I mean no harm by writing this. Everything in here is a mess. It savors like a broken promise. It hurts, leaves scars and indelible memories that will keep goring at your self-esteem. The words herein may bring upon your life gaps that never existed before. Your perfection may risk deletion after today. Make up might become the next door ugly bitch that can’t keep her mouth shut, as from today.
Dieting, work outs and other therapies that you ply to keep that body lean might sound meaningless today. Junk and binge eating might court you. After this, you might marry solitude for a while, while you slouch in a dark corner after looking yourself in the mirror twice, from all angles.
I understand this single post may cost me meaningful friends. I truly know that I am staking a lot by getting this to the public. But again if friendship is based on what I write and not who I am, I don’t give a shit about it. I am unapologetic to people who confuse my fingers with my brain. Fingers write, but my brain controls my heart. So a friendship that trusts my fingers more than my brain is cursed. Being me is difficult, being a writer is. Creativity, facts and risks are part of the story of our lives. No malice, or bad intentions. It is a narration of my experiences.
Let’s hit it.
I hit the bar at around 9 in the night, downtown Nairobi, with two of my friends. I am no bar guy. But I always find myself ducking in and out of bars, courtesy of my friends and also my affinity to get loose. By getting loose I mean checking into a bar, listening to some music, having some lap dance, squeezing a few bottles of soft drinks, dancing to a few tracks, holding some booty and surrendering to my crib before the long hand of the watch hits 1.
My friends abandon me and land on two ladies for a dance. I swing to the counter, where the bartender serves me some Alvaro. Cold and refreshing. The seat next to me is empty. Since the place is stuffed up, I imagine it is occupied (only in Kenya where empty seats are occupied magically). On the other end a beautiful lady seated, drinking alone.
‘Excuse me, is the seat taken?’
So I join her. Her glass is half full. She looks like someone used to going the hard way on drinks. Damn, I don’t find girls who drink sexy. Not in the least. We keep talking. She tells me she hasn’t dated for a while because no man has approached her. She is witty, sexy (even in her awful drinking state) and humorous.
After a number of drinks, and her ration dismantled, I act the savior of the mess. I get flippant, because she is too. Carefree and loose. The girl can’t get herself on toes and get her ass home. So what do I do? I take her home and she serves me the cookie, after a one month dry spell. Damn!
Anyway, I later learn that she is a model who has just landed in town. Doing her shit, landing high clientele and doing her shit clean. Sounds a lot like sales and entrepreneurship doesn’t it? After one month, things are worse and we walk out on each other. A few of her class.
I have dated a few rounds of models. An assortment. About flips with models, my experience cannot be underestimated. Thus, by documenting this, I am confessing from a professional level.
Models are beautiful. They are adorable and attractive. You look at them and you start drooling because who doesn’t love them sexy. They have nice round thighs, confident faces that can cut across your face like a laser seductively till you shy. They can make men crawl out of their shells.
If you have spent time with most of these women we call models, you will understand that beauty can be bought from shops. If you woke up next to a model, in her fresh natural face, you might ask your ancestors to forgive you for picking her while drunk. Many of them without (face-lifting) make-up, they are a mess. We all understand that modelling is a compelling career that needs kujipodoa. You and I know that consistent use of make-up can actually leave your face ruthlessly dilapidated. Facing such a face in bed on a cool morning can be a horrific scene you want to avoid.
The thought of sleeping with a model can bring such wonderful feelings in your balls. The thought alone is orgasmic. Many men out there would love to run their hands along those smooth thighs, throw those lean legs over the shoulders and pin her on the corner of the bed and screw her the whole night. That is the thought, and it can make you fantasize whenever you see models on covers or walking down the streets. Later you will realize it’s better to jerk off than make out with her. Many are so horrible in bed. Why should a model take time to study the Kama Sutra like normal girls when so many men feel blessed merely to see her naked?
Many of these ladies are those who spread out in bed like a dude on a circumcision table waiting for you to bring her breakfast to bed. That is lovely. It is every girl’s dream. But it is dreading to a man if he has to do that every morning. It is even tragic if he has to clear the utensils off the sink every other day, do the clothes, clean the messed house and still bring something on the table. Are you feeling me? She doesn’t possess even the most basic homemaking skills. Bad news to a man.
Modelling career can sound so cool. Well, it used to be. Before all the wannabes started hitting studios and getting a range of photo shoots, uploading them photos on social media with modelling tags on them, flooding the market and masquerading it like pros. Till then, the career stopped being cool. I do model, but it’s not my passion. I do it for leisure. For people who do it seriously, this is a challenge because wannabes will steal opportunities meant for passionate and enthusiastic models. This makes this a profession a joke, one that has no money, leaving models broke. Models are damn broke, damn. Rich men will constantly try to steal her from you if she’s hot. They will tag along these sponsors man. She doesn’t want to look like life took a shot at her while she got her modelling crown on her back. Models must look elegant, and rolling in it.
Models are always on the road. I don’t know to where. But I believe they are running after some opportunity somewhere. That is understandable, hunting down the dimes man. She got to live. But who wants to date someone always on the road. At one time she is gone one full week, when she returns, she picks more stuff and hits the road again. You aren’t Job to be that patient. Let her get some other niggar model to get on road trips. Their flairs are coherent.
Also read: The days men used to eat
You’d think that having all that beauty would make models self-confident, but in fact the opposite occurs. They are insecure and need validation. When they go for a while without landing a job, they are like- I am ugly and old, that’s why I ain’t getting even tip offs.
On the runaways they can send you hallucinating that they got their shit together. That they are the most confident beings God ever gave the world. The way they step on that concrete, the way they will burn your face with straight eyes that don’t blink will leave you asking- damn, where the hell do such bitches get that mettle from! Why can’t I have it too, Lord!
But every day they are up on social media with plagiarized photos to get validation. Up there, life is not that cruel. Man, it’s crazy.
Some never develop intellect or personality. Models are incredibly dull-witted, at least a big number of them (Beautiful ones). You would be too if everyone responded favorably to you since childhood just because you were genetically beautiful. It has never happened in the history of the world that a model said something interesting or impressive (nowadays, with the modelling industry dwindling precariously, many have tried schooling). They simply never developed the normal mental faculties to do so, because merely existing and coasting by on their beauty was enough. A model is great to look at, but after you have sex with her a couple times, you won’t uncover a secret treasure that makes you like her even more. It only gets worse over time.
It is obvious for everyone with working eyes that models have no coit (ass for professional niggars, I am from the street). The chests, which are supposed to have a deep contour between two huge mangoes, are usually flat. Every money wants something to hold on during the night, and something to suck. Something with nipples on it. Something that can fill the arm. Something which he can feel. Something that once it hits his mouth and a tongue runs on it softly, a mourn of pleasure escapes from beneath and lights the room of romance.
For someone who loves hugs, hugging a model can be depressive, dyspeptic and hurting. Your arms go round. They just roll back to you.
Roosh Valizadeh says
If you decide to ignore advice and date a model, the best thing I can tell you is to have very low expectations about the longevity of the relationship. Do it for fun, do it for kicks, but don’t take her seriously. Just making it to the three-month mark will be quite commendable on your part. In the meantime, have no shame for dating non-models. Maybe the beauty of a normal girl won’t be as high, but she’ll be able to do a better job satisfying you sexually, emotionally, and intellectually.
-Photo Credit: wall