models of 14 to 15 shook nervously as they listened out for the call that would lead to the big breakthrough or the next slap in the ego. My years of being laughed at and bullied at school turned out to have been, in some ways, useful. It was so much more difficult for the girls who had always been thought of as the most beautiful to find out that they were just one face of many.
The agency was as happy as I was that my diary was being filled, but for them it was pragmatic: I represented an investment in terms of the expenses they covered for me in Germany. They were paying for my accommodation and were keen to see some dividends. If their patience ran out before my luck changed, I would be packed off back home to Denmark. That was another reason to feel great relief as things began to pick up, though I have to say that I did likethe hectic lifestyle and even got a sort of thrill from the uncertainty that came with the life. I didn’t mind working hard and even getting as far as Hamburg was further than I had managed before. Twice as big as Copenhagen, the town was very beautiful and as I got to know it, I felt myself to be very far away from where I’d grown up. I wasn’t much of a clubber at that point, but for me it was enough to experience living in a different country. It didn’t make things any easier, but I knew it was worth what I was having to do to be there.
Denmark wasn’t that far away anyway, at least physically. It was only 160 kilometres to the border and at first I regularly took the train to see my family, though these visits did fall away as I adjusted to my adult existence. I had an instinctive feeling that I wasn’t going to go home: I had found something that was more what I had become, something bigger. There would be more than just Hamburg, I felt sure, somewhere where there was more to learn about different ways of living life. There was more space in my life now, space in which the precious, intimate love I had felt for Christian was hopelessly diluted. That meant there was even less reason for me to want to head back north again. Now I was ready for the world – Paris.
I knew what it was like to work with major photographers: I was used to speaking in English and I knew John Casablanca still had plans for me. The agency told me I had that 10 per cent extra – whatever it was that marked out the superstar from every other hard-working model.
New York and Paris were the centres of the fashionbusiness and I knew that if I could break there, I could make a name for myself anywhere, but I had never been to France. Paris represented the ultimate in romance, beauty, sophistication and culture. French was the language of seduction and sounded like it too. The worst insult sounds sexy delivered in French and I had always wanted to master it.
Today I speak fluent Italian, English and German but I never did well in French, even at school. Me and France, it would turn out, were just never meant to be and maybe that’s why I always struggled with the language. Despite my best hopes and the best plans of the agency, Paris was going to be a complete disaster: I never liked the French and the feeling was mutual. If I thought that Hamburg was hard, I was about to find out that the Paris I’d always hoped to see was only in my dreams.
CHAPTER 7
ALONE IN THE CITY OF LOVE
M y new life in the capital of France filled me with huge expectation. Ever since I was a little girl the very name ‘Paris’ had come loaded with magic. I was jittery with anticipation when I arrived. The Danish agency were certain that Paris would fall before me and I felt sure that something wonderful was about to happen.
I wanted to see all the famous sights and looked forward to the buzz of seeing the town as a local. I’d be working and living there when I went up the Eiffel Tower rather than just being a tourist. I was filled with the romance of it all and couldn’t wait to join the thousands who have scribbled their
The agency was as happy as I was that my diary was being filled, but for them it was pragmatic: I represented an investment in terms of the expenses they covered for me in Germany. They were paying for my accommodation and were keen to see some dividends. If their patience ran out before my luck changed, I would be packed off back home to Denmark. That was another reason to feel great relief as things began to pick up, though I have to say that I did likethe hectic lifestyle and even got a sort of thrill from the uncertainty that came with the life. I didn’t mind working hard and even getting as far as Hamburg was further than I had managed before. Twice as big as Copenhagen, the town was very beautiful and as I got to know it, I felt myself to be very far away from where I’d grown up. I wasn’t much of a clubber at that point, but for me it was enough to experience living in a different country. It didn’t make things any easier, but I knew it was worth what I was having to do to be there.
Denmark wasn’t that far away anyway, at least physically. It was only 160 kilometres to the border and at first I regularly took the train to see my family, though these visits did fall away as I adjusted to my adult existence. I had an instinctive feeling that I wasn’t going to go home: I had found something that was more what I had become, something bigger. There would be more than just Hamburg, I felt sure, somewhere where there was more to learn about different ways of living life. There was more space in my life now, space in which the precious, intimate love I had felt for Christian was hopelessly diluted. That meant there was even less reason for me to want to head back north again. Now I was ready for the world – Paris.
I knew what it was like to work with major photographers: I was used to speaking in English and I knew John Casablanca still had plans for me. The agency told me I had that 10 per cent extra – whatever it was that marked out the superstar from every other hard-working model.
New York and Paris were the centres of the fashionbusiness and I knew that if I could break there, I could make a name for myself anywhere, but I had never been to France. Paris represented the ultimate in romance, beauty, sophistication and culture. French was the language of seduction and sounded like it too. The worst insult sounds sexy delivered in French and I had always wanted to master it.
Today I speak fluent Italian, English and German but I never did well in French, even at school. Me and France, it would turn out, were just never meant to be and maybe that’s why I always struggled with the language. Despite my best hopes and the best plans of the agency, Paris was going to be a complete disaster: I never liked the French and the feeling was mutual. If I thought that Hamburg was hard, I was about to find out that the Paris I’d always hoped to see was only in my dreams.
CHAPTER 7
ALONE IN THE CITY OF LOVE
M y new life in the capital of France filled me with huge expectation. Ever since I was a little girl the very name ‘Paris’ had come loaded with magic. I was jittery with anticipation when I arrived. The Danish agency were certain that Paris would fall before me and I felt sure that something wonderful was about to happen.
I wanted to see all the famous sights and looked forward to the buzz of seeing the town as a local. I’d be working and living there when I went up the Eiffel Tower rather than just being a tourist. I was filled with the romance of it all and couldn’t wait to join the thousands who have scribbled their
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