Blue Steel Called

Normally, when Chinese people come up to you on the street, it’s because there is a deep-rooted notion that all white people have money, and the Chinese people have a deep-rooted belief that they are somehow entitled to a portion of it. They may be new to capitalism, but they are quick learners. I’ve all but completely tuned out the nonsensical shouts of “Hey, you need shoes? DVD’S. I have watches.” Or, “North Face. Special price for you. Just you.” Yes, that is a special price indeed when you try to charge me 20 times what it is actually worth. Then there is the more subtle, “Where are you from?” line, which inevitably leads to the starving art student story, whereupon they lead you to a back room, give you alcohol, show you crappy reprints of ancient-looking scenes, and somehow get you drunk enough to buy them. Trust me, it only takes making that mistake once.

So it was with great skepticism that I stopped to talk to someone in the Subway station by my house when he asked if I had a moment. I’m not sure if this will go down as a momentous occasion, or the beginnings of another great scam, but there is only one way to find out. Turns out, there was a team recruiting Westerners to be represented by their modeling company. Yes, perhaps it is the rebirth of a nascent career cut short by the ravages of puberty. Regardless, I’m pretty sure the only requirement is that you be white, and somewhat young, but of course, I was intrigued.

I met up with them in their offices in the “YuCheng Mansion.” Chinese people have an odd way of calling 30 story buildings “mansions.” I have stopped questioning it. Our first meeting consisted of the man speaking virtually no English, so there was a lot of miming and hand motions. I think he got really excited when I told him that I played the piano. I’m not sure if I should be concerned about what kind of modeling/acting jobs he would be able to get me with my piano skills, but at this point I have just starting accepting that its all quite odd. I did check no to the magic abilities and Kung Fu boxes, however.

Then he took my measurements, and took 3 digital pictures of me, and told me that his boss wasn’t there right now, and that I needed to come back tomorrow. Sort of annoying, but again, nothing is as you may expect it at this point. However, I was thinking that perhaps the industry in China was just “undeveloped” enough, that these 3 pictures would suffice, and I wouldn’t need any sort of professional picture to get jobs. This is not the case. The next day, a Russian lady, and the same man were there to meet me. The Russian lady was the interpreter turns out, which apparently lends more credibility and trust to the whole operation, because she is perceived as being neutral. In short, they convinced me to immediately go to some photography studio and get a portfolio done, because they were SO confident that I will be able to land acting jobs. Because A) Chinese people LOVE foreigners. Sort of true, though I think they are more entranced by the foreign lifestyle. And B) I have a “special” smile. I hope by special they don’t mean, “he rides the short bus.”

The photography studio was also sort of a trip in itself. I got my “portfolio” done in an hour, including hair and makeup. Chinese efficiency is again at work. The wardrobe choices were totally bizarre, and I had to draw the line somewhere before the green t-shirt coupled with the leather vest with fringes and a top hat. No kidding. So that is pretty much where I stand. I took some pictures, apparently am being represented, and am now just waiting for that big break. All in the span of about 24 hours.

At this rate, my fifteen minutes of fame are probably going to feel more like fifteen seconds. If this isn’t the start of some elaborate scam. We shall see.