Model’s agency: Bleu in LA, full-time model. Latest jobs: Vanity fair, jc pennies, and Lee jeans campaign.
My father’s Italian, my mother is polish though she turned geographically german as the plates of power shifted which eventually made it her legal heritage, and my regal birthplace. So I grew up in Germany and lived there until I was 9. On a cold and frosty sunday morning, after having barefottedly retrieved the eggs out of the henhouse, my parents told me we were moving to America. I was excited so I told everyone at school, “I’m going to America to become a star!” Though I expected admiration, all I got was a punch in the face, and a kick in the knee by Mathias the Bruiser on the last day of school. They called me a Yankee and told me to die in a fire. I’d been a dumb loser in the eyes of the bruiser and had nothing of value for the world to admire. I’d never heard the term, nor did I believe their claims, for that day I decided, “You can try to deny it, but I have decided, that one day you’ll see me, and I will be famous!”
I was a over confident chubby boy with dreams beyond my comprehension, but who cares. I was 9, and I was going to America. Land of Free! Land of infinite possibilities!
Instead we moved to a town of roughly 200 residents…203 of which were cows. I endured, and waited, and endured some more until I reached 18, the golden age. I graduated, scrubbed my life of cow stenched residue, packed my bags, and fled to NY with a “just you wait” expression on my face. I walked into an agency and said take me away, I’m the star of the century! Don’t you wait! If you let me walk out of here, it’ll be too late!”
They didn’t “take me away” as I had proclaimed, but they did “send” me away, and so did a few other agents of that day. But at last, I came, saw, and conquered the last, worst, and most unlisted agency in NY. But my agent had a passion for fashion and stuck to me like sticky fried pork so I gave him a chance, and he gave it back. That same month, I shot test, after test, after test, after test, until suddenly I began traveling the world, spending 2-3 months for 4-5 years in many and most markets across asia, europe, and finally Africa… until coming to a declaration “Enough is Enough! Where is my Nest! Cause I need a rest before I get stressed!!”
That was last year, and I’ve been residing between NY and LA ever since, living, loving, laughing and struggling just like ever other one of us soul selling pigeons nibbling at the prospect of fame and fortune. But at least now it’s from the comfort of my own home, while I sit on my throne of self apprecation for what I’ve done and plan to do with my life outside of fame, fortune, and other such societal tortures. I travel abroad occasionally for select, loyal clients, but try to keep my traveling to a limit these days. Though when I’m home, I paint, write, read and and try to upstart my recently created tshirt line called “The Human Zoo” though to be honest when it comes to business I’m kind of a fool.
I enjoy literature, conspiracy, poetry, and all forms of music. I also like to be in close proximity to women, the homeless, dark chocolate, and bowls filled with persimmon.
I no longer wish to be famous as I earlier told. I do however wish to grow famously old, and happy, and do what I love as opposed to do and believe whatever I’m told. To me that’s more of a dream worth living toward than widespread fame in an unfriendly world. The people of the new world are just like those of the old, friendly with friends, hostile with foes, but I’d rather smile, stay unknown, and poor, than deliver the blows as titans rise, and hostility grows. It seems the further we go toward our american goal, the american dream, the American soul the deeper we sink toward Alice and Co, the corporation of dreams, the hole down which even the rabbit won’t go.
