Some of you may not know that I have background in Film and Television. In fact, in 2010 and 2011, I filmed, edited, directed and produced an "action sports" show for TV called "Badass." The show centered around beautiful young ladies partaking of various "manly" adventures, from racing dune buggies to shooting machine guns.
I talked myself into it because as a filmmaker, having "Playboy" on your resume is not a bad thing. When I penned the shows I wanted to do, I always tried to make sure that the ladies came off as articulate, empowered women who rendered the men in the show as buffoons who couldn't believe that pretty girls could do what they did.
Episodes included flying "ultra lights," wrestling with alligators, street racing Ferrari's and Lamborghinis and various other debauchery normally reserved for men. I'd set up the shoots, pen a script, pick a location and being planning in earnest.
Hiring a crew to film these episodes was easy...I had a LONG list of volunteers who were willing to work for little or no pay (Shocking, right?) Finding the girls was going to be a challenge. I simply didn't know any "gorgeous" 21-32 year old women.
Not a problem, as Playboy put out a casting call and opened the doors of their recruitment studio in Los Angeles. Over the course of five days, I saw 100 women a day "audition." That's 500 women in a week, for those keeping score...in person, live and 20 feet from me. I don't think I've seen 500 women naked online and in print, combined, in my entire life.
The audition was supervised by a male and female associate and involved women coming in, then telling us a little bit about themselves, then reading a paragraph from cue cards. One catch: they were nude.
On paper, it sounds like a dream gig...watching 500 girls parade in front of you nude is something probably every man has fantasized about in his life. So, suffice to say, I was a bit over the moon with excitement.
The first hour I was there, I was simply trying to maintain my composure. By midday, I was starting to feel a bit more comfortable. All the while, I was trying to look and act professional. For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to look below the models' bust level...I felt dirty, as if I violated them in some way. It was at this time that I cursed my mom under my breath. I remember her words to me as I started dating in my teens: 'Remember: that's somebody's daughter, somebody's sister and someday, somebody's mom.' I'm still in therapy over that warning.
Somehow, I got through day one without making a spectacle of myself.
By day two, the shock had worn off and somehow, I became fixated on thinking about what the AUDIENCE would want, not what I found attractive. To me, "attractive" is NOT based on what some view as the "perfect" physical specimen....it's a combination of things with personality, attitude, education and other things playing a BIG role. But I'm not stupid...I know most men will ONLY care about their anatomy.
This is where it got weird. I started looking much more closely at every nuance of these women's curves, yet rather than focusing on the task at hand, I felt as if I were being watched. I'm not particularly religious, but having been raised a Catholic, I do believe in God. I've always believed that he's watching me and that I'm somewhat of a "project" for him. On this this day, I was pretty sure he stamped my file with a great, big "Straight to Hell" mark.
Somehow, I managed to complete the day. By Wednesday afternoon, I had seen enough. I asked my colleagues to make the rest of the choices for me and over the next few days, they emailed me a handful of contenders for final selection. Whew...I made it through it.
Over the next two years, my crew and I maintained the utmost professionalism with the ladies. For me, these young girls were like my little sisters and I felt it my responsibility to watch over them.
There were a few that were educated, dynamic and above-board who were largely using Playboy fame as a means to an end. Of course there were others that were clearly not destined for a career in Quantum Mechanics.
On one shoot, with live ammunition and machine guns, one gal spun around with a jammed magazine and aimed a 12 gauge shot gun at my head. I was looking through a viewfinder and was wondering why everyone ducked. A look at other camera angles in post production revealed that I was seconds from death. I wonder what they would've written on my epitaph.
But I digress.
There were many girls that came and went on set. While it was always surreal to see them naked one minute, then clothed at dinner a few hours later, I did manage to form a few friendships.
In fact, after developing a special bond with a sweet, educated girl who was 31, I somehow talked myself into asking her out on a date. We had hung around as friends before on several occasions and I thought she was a stand out in a crowd of stand outs. We'll call her "Diane."
If you're looking for stats and descriptors, I'll spare you the metaphors and analogies, except to say that she was everything you'd expect from a woman of this world, sprinkled with class, sophistication, education and compassion....truly, a cut above.
For our date, she met me at my place and we headed up to SLS in Beverly Hills. Dressed in a stunning little body dress, she was a head turner to say the least. She literally turned every man's head in the place. I felt eyes upon me too, but for a different reason.
She exposed me to Salsa dancing and during a slow dance, I felt very connected to her. At one point, our faces separated and there was that long gaze you see in the movies...we were thinking about it, but didn't act on it. The problem was, I had placed myself in the friend zone.
I felt that I had shared so much with her that I would be violating a trust if I were to attempt to take this a step further. Both of us knew this was a date, not a hang out. She even mentioned it to her friends on the phone on the way to the restaurant. But still, I wasn't sure that I'd ever be able to get past that, as I just didn't view her in that way. Perhaps she felt the same at the time.
As the night ended, I walked her to her car. There was that awkward high-school moment where you contemplate going in for the kiss. Her body language suggested it, but instead, we hugged for what seemed like an eternity. She drove off and we stayed in touch for awhile, especially during the time her father was gravely ill...she had come to cry on my shoulder numerous times and I gave her some advice that seemed to work out for her.
She was therapeutic for me in that I had just come off my divorce ( about 18 months before) and I wasn't really hunting for a new belle, but her kind, gentle ways and her depth of character and integrity restored my hope in women. In my eyes, her date with me meant that I could draw the attention of someone beautiful on the inside and out. Most of all, she reminded me that you should never judge a book by it's cover.
The life lesson I learned was that I could never be that guy who was dating the super hot model, whether or not she was after me for money, because I just felt a certain stigma. If you've ever seen a super hot woman walking with a wealthy looking guy that looks 15 years her senior, you know what I mean. We've all cast our judgments through our stares. We've all done it to someone, but I experienced it from the receiving end.
I fell out of touch with Diane after awhile. She used to be on my Facebook, but my ex fiance had a problem with that, so out of respect, I deleted her. Now neither of them is on my Facebook. If I do end up in Hell, I'm pretty sure I know which one of these two I'll be seeing again.
Or perhaps the good Lord granted me a stay given my behavior towards Diane.
No comments:
Post a Comment