My boo asked me to pause the show. "Have YOU ever been made fun of in high school?" he asked. "Me?" I replied. "Of course not! I was perfect!" He thought for a second, "Yeah, me neither, I guess. So you can't really fault her." "OF COURSE I WAS MADE FUN OF!!! I was overweight and COULDN'T CLOSE MY MOUTH OVER MY TEETH!!!"
Have I mentioned I had an overbite that was so bad that when I closed my mouth, my teeth were still visible? That we couldn't afford to correct it until I was 15? A seven year old with buck teeth is adorable, a sophomore in high school is sad.
|Oh Yeah. I also wore glasses.
I turned 15, I naturally lost weight by landscaping the city every summer in a youth volunteer program, got braces and then three years later moved to Southern California to start college. Where no one knew me.
Imagine my surprise when I learned that I was "hot." I just got my braces off a month before I left my hometown and was a healthy size 9. Because I had spend the last 7 years not scrutinizing my body and face (cause, again, why bother - I had BUCK TEETH and no one could see past it) and instead reading, writing, and loving wordplay. All of a sudden, I was a freshman co-ed who was cute, smart and completely oblivious to my sexuality. Oh, sure, I could flirt: chubby girls with bad teeth learn to flirt to get laughs. (which explains why when I need to be sultry or sexy, I laugh and go immediately to goofy; it's where I'm more comfortable - another story for another time) So there I was - deemed hot by several boys in the film department who were of my kind - awkward and dorky in their youth but somehow developed into extremely pleasant looking.
And now I'm an actress going out on the biggest auditions I've ever had and I'm in fricking 7th grade all over again.
I had an audition for a couple of lines in a big studio film yesterday and walked into a lobby filled with tall, statuesque blonds with perfect, stylish clothes, designer handbags, in season shoes and longer resumes.
I am Ann on America's Next Top Model.
Why am I suddenly thinking I'm not pretty enough to be in the same room with these girls? Why am I thinking someone's made a huge mistake categorizing me with these beauties?
So I had to remember: The Casting Director chose my picture. The Casting Director picks stunning women. I am a stunning woman. I don't look like them, but I am beautiful.
We are all beautiful. No one else looks like me. No one else looks like you.
For the Casting Director, I am simply One More Option.
Today I had another audition, this time for a pilot and I walked into the lobby and felt differently about the situation. Here was a room full of beautiful young women and I was one of them. Here is a room filled with women just like me, where we're all hoping this is the audition that will get us the callback that will get us the screen test that will get us the role. It could go to any one of us.
What a difference. Less nerves and therefore, less overacting, just because I forced myself to remember that I am beautiful. I'm wearing a dress from Ross, boots from Goodwill, and I deserve to be in this room, counted among the more successful, the more experienced, the more who knows what else.
We all feel insecure from time to time, and when I was in college I came up with a theory that as far as I know, has been proven over and over: At any given time - ANY GIVEN TIME - you have at least three people who have crushes on you.
Adds a little bounce in your step, eh?