Page 56 of Thigh Highs
Twenty minutes later I’m holding a packet of papers in my hands, glancing at the men around the table in disbelief. Jim Sanders isn’t among them, but if he was I’d be tempted to ask how exactly he plans on evaluating my creativity when this job seems to require next to none ofit.
Everything has already been planned out. I have a pre-approved list of photo captions to pick from, a pre-approved set of hashtags I can use, and a pre-approved template for Facebook posts. Even thefiltersI can use on Instagram have been pre-approved, and on top of all that, I still have to submit whatever selections I make of all this pre-approved material foranotherround ofapproval.
“Is there any possibility of making additions or suggestions to all this?” I ask, after everything has been laid out in front of me and I’m finally given a chance tospeak.
Everyone shifts in theirseats.
“I just thought, given that I’ll be representing the brand, you may want to make things a bit more personal? I have experience in the field and I’d be happy to brainstorm a way to make these templates come across as more customized, more individual. That seems to be what our clientwants.”
No one will meet my eyes, like I’m that awkward person in a waiting room who can’t pick up on the fact that nobody wants to talk, but I’ve started now and I’m not going to stop until I’ve said mypiece.
“Forgive me if I’m overstepping a line, but I also think it may be beneficial to have a woman’s perspective on the campaign, given that it is being directed at women. I may be wrong, but as far as I can tell the strategy so far has been developed almost completely bymen.”
The man directly across from me seems to seize this as an opportunity to put me in my place. He almost sighs before he starts talking, as if he’s been left in charge of an obstinatechild.
“These parameters are based on in-depth market research,MissDominguez, and were created to make sure we connect with our audience in the most effective way possible,” he begins, making even my name sound condescending. “As for providing your input, you’ll have lots of opportunities to use what we’ve given you today in your own creativeway.”
I kind of want to throw up at the way he sing-songs ‘your own creative way,’ like he’s telling me I’m free to play with a colouring book. It’s clear that no one here shares Jim Sanders’ supposed interest in my advertisingpotential.
I flip through the packet in front of me. I feel like a kitten being tossed a ball of yarn and encouraged to do something cute while a dozen smart phones snap Instagram shots. Maybe that’s exactly what I amhere.
A cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck, and for the first time, I truly let myself wonder whether or not I should have done this atall.
The sound of chairs scraping across the floor pulls my attention back to themeeting.
“Alright, that about sums this meeting up. Back to your offices everyone, unless you’ve been scheduled to be on set for theshoot.”
I’m ushered through the building and down to one of the lower levels. We enter into a huge photography studio, complete with multiple backdrops and complicated looking lighting rigs hanging from the ceiling. I’m awed at the sight of it all, but it’s a different feeling from when I first walked into the studio at school. There, I felt enthralled by the vast space and sprawling warehouse windows. Here, stuck underground and bathed in harsh artificial light, I just feel intimidated,exposed.
Jim’s now-familiar voice greets me from across the room. “Miss Dominguez! A pleasure as always. How did the briefinggo?”
“It was...informative,” I answer, an edge to myvoice.
Either he doesn’t hear that edge, or he ignores it. “Excellent. You can head over to makeup now, just behind those screensthere.”
I follow the direction he’s pointing towards and step into a makeshift room with walls made out of large canvas screens. Behind them is a chair fixed under the glare of a few freestanding lights and a table set up with enough makeup to stock an entire aisle at Sephora. One of the few women I’ve seen at P&T is hovering over a box of lipstick, a makeup tool belt filled with about a dozen brushes fixed around herwaist.
“Hi,” I greet her. “I’m Christina, the brandrepresentative.”
She lifts up her blonde head and I’m face to face with what looks like a mash-up of Amy Winehouse’s eye makeup, Kylie Jenner’s lipstick tricks, and Cara Delavigne’s eyebrow game. While it would be too much for a mere mortal to pull off, somehow it all works together on the makeupartist.
“Ah, freshmeat.”
Her voice is tinged with an accent I can’t place. She beckons me closer and I almost jump when she hooks a finger under my chin and tilts my head back, shifting my face from side to side as she inspectsme.
“Mmm, yes.Sit.”
Stunned into obedience, I take a seat on thechair.
“Zhey say zhey vant natural. Men always say zhat, but what they really vant is a girl wearing lots of makeup without looking like she is wearing lots ofmakeup.”
She putters around the table for a bit, gathering up some items. Then, without any warning, she spins around and holds a brush up in the air, shouting loud enough to make me literally jump in mychair.
“I am tired of disguising my art for zheeze people!” She steps closer, grabbing my chin so she can look at my face again. “Zhee things I could do vis this face. Zhee things I could do! But no! Natural. We must benatural.”
As if she hasn’t made any outburst at all, she goes back to picking out items off thetable.
I spend the next twenty minutes having various products applied to my face. Every now and then the makeup artist stops to look at her work and makes a derisive comment along the lines of “Natural!HA!” I stay as still as I can, since most of her comments are accompanied by a jab of her brush that narrowly misses my eye a fewtimes.
