A 17-year-old named Rose says:

These sites provided a setting where I could talk about the illness without people trying to fix me or tell me that what I'm doing is horrible, disgusting, maladaptive. For me, part of the illness was just about getting attention. You feel so lonely and you want someone to notice you, and I guess that's kind of the way to do it, even with other sick people.

And the other sick people will definitely notice you: Facebook reportedly shut down a group "as well as the Facebook account of its creator, a girl who would encourage others to post their pictures online and then harshly detail their 'problem areas.'" However, coming out publicly as an anorexic is not always negative. Singer Juliana Hatfield tells the Guardian that blogging about her experience in an eating disorder clinic helped her get through it. "I needed to reach out to people. I needed support from anywhere I could find it. I wanted to tell the truth and let people know what was going on," she says.

It's important to note that the line between helpful and hurtful when it comes to internet discussion of eating disorders is very thin (no pun intended). According to Newsweek, a recent study shows "50 percent of teens who visited sites ostensibly devoted to eating disorder recovery also learned new weight-loss tips." Navigating the internet for someone susceptible to eating issues is definitely a minefield.

Out Of The Shadows [Newsweek]
'A Heart That Hurts Is A Heart That Works. I Will Beat My Anorexia' [The Guardian]

[Stereogum, Juliana Hatfield]

Us
"How I Saved My Son." To be honest, we couldn't really get into this cover story. Meaning: refused to read it. Intern Margaret applauds Jenny McCarthy's efforts, but… yeah. Also inside: According to Jason Alexander, the guy that Britney married for 55 hours, he has renewed his friendship with Brit. Britney's rep denies this. There are two pages about Jen Aniston and John Mayer being back on: They spent the weekend together in New York! Plus: Shanna Moakler describes Travis Barker's skin grafts: "That's when they shave the skin off and then staple cadaver and pig skin right on, so the skin underneath can heal." Science! Lastly: American Idol's Nikki McKibbin wed her childhood rollerskating coach. She'll appear on the second season of Celebrity Rehab.
Grade: F- (silt)


OK!
"Young, Rich & In Love!" Zac Efron and Vanessa Hudgens are YR&IL. They vacation together, work out in matching outfits and own million dollar homes. He's 21, she's 19. Yawn. Moving on: Kelly Ripa was at the Madonna concert and totally got to sing along when Madonna handed her the mic during a song! Is The Hills over? An insider says: "No one gets along anymore. Whitney moved to New York, Audrina can't stand to be in the same room as Lauren anymore, and they all want more money." Hey, ever notice how Katie Holmes and Mr. Spock look alike (Fig. 1)? Next, profound words from Eva Mendes: "My secret obsession is love. I love 'love!' I love being in love, and I love having someone be in love with me. Love is the sexiest thing in the world." So, this is probably bullshit, but there's a 2-page story about how even though they broke up 2 years ago, Cameron Diaz is still pining for Matt Dillon. "I'm sure she still thinks about him — a lot." a pal of Cammie's says.
Grade: F (sludge)


Life & Style
"I'm Pregnant!" If you care about The Bachelor's Trista Rehn Sutter, then you'll be interested to know she is knocked up again. Another story we refused to read. Moving on: Angelina bought the same dress in 6 colors (Fig. 2). Jamie Lynn Spears has been "struggling" to shoot down reports that she is pregnant again. "I'm not pregnant," Jamie Lynn says. At her concert, Madonna dedicated a song to "anyone with intimacy issues." Her marriage is "all but dead," says a source. Tom Cruise bought Katie Holmes a cross as a gift for appearing on Broadway. The mag points out that it is more like a Catholic cross than a Scientology cross, which has eight points. But, it's actually a square cross, like the Red Cross. Whatevs. Lastly: A picture of Sarah Jessica Parker as a kid. Cute! (Fig.3)
Grade: F+ (sand)


In Touch
"I'm Not Anorexic." Basically this is a six-page series of articles calling out "scary skinny" actresses and explaining why they are so slim. Lindsay Lohan is on a "risky new diet" that involves Redline, an energy drink that promises to burn fat through a shivering response. Like a chihuahua? A doctor says it's pretty close to being an amphetamine. Anne Hathaway has eliminated carbs and sugar and become and "insane" calorie counter. Angelina Jolie is only eating 1,000 calories a day, and there's a chart so you can play along at home! The mag also claims that in those pix where she's wearing that black dress at the premiere of Changeling she's also wearing a "custom made corset." Could it be called "Spanx"? As for Keira Knightley, she is still insisting that she is naturally thin, but that doesn't stop the magazine from drawing arrows that point to her "thin arms" and "skeletal back." A pal says of Katrina Bowden from 30 Rock: "She works out 4 to 5 hours almost every day." Moving on: Jennifer Lopez and Marc Anthony came up with the idea for their second wedding at 12:30 am after seeing the Las Vegas Pussycat Dolls. The Hills' Justin Bobby speaks! He was overheard telling a pal he never hooked up with Lauren Conrad and it's all for the show. "When a group of blondes tried to ask him about it, he threatened to punch them," says an onlooker. Gossip Girl stars Taylor Momsen and Chace Crawford were spotted making out at two parties in NYC. Even though they go to the same school on Gossip Girl, in real life he is 23 and she is 15! Rose McGowan is going to marry director Robert Rodriguez after all: They'd taken a three-month break, but it's back on. Jessica Lowndes and Adam Gregory from 90210 are dating, if you care. Ooh, exclusive interview with Holly Madison: "There were a lot of people — not just Hef — who wanted me to pretend we were still together for the sake of the show." She also says: "I want to be out of there by Halloween. It is so awkward being there, because he is dating other people." Also! She'd been getting fertility treatments but the clinic told her pregnancy wasn't possible because Hef was too old. Next: An interview with Kelli Dawson, the woman who claims she had relationship with Casey Aldridge (he denied last week it in OK!) says: "I heard that [Jaime Lynn] told Casey she is pregnant." Lastly, a sausage-loving town in Rostov-on-Don, Russia, has an exhibition of masterpieces of art made entirely out of slices of local sausages and meat (Fig. 4).
Grade: C- (cyanide-processed gold ingot)


Star
"Stars Without Makeup." Well, they just did this EXACT SAME STORY in July, but here it is again. Intern Margaret says that in the "without makeup" pictures, they are all wearing makeup. Eyeliner or something. She also says they all look pretty damn good "without" makeup. Also inside: Rihanna was spotted sitting on Kanye West's lap backstage at a T.I. concert in Hollywood. "Before long, the two were full-on kissing each other," says a source. Scandalous! To mark her 55th birthday in January, Oprah is giving herself the gift of $500,000 in plastic surgery. Star actually creates before and after pictures so you don't have to use your imagination (Fig. 5)! Jennifer Aniston and John Mayer have renewed their romance with intimate dinners at John's Soho apartment. She checked into a hotel, but it was just for show. A source says: "She actually spent her nights at John's place. They ordered sushi and watched movies and he played the guitar for her. She spent several nights there. And yes, they slept together. Jen says the sex is amazing and that she can't help herself — she's crazy about him!" Who is this source, the sheets? In Maureen McCormick's upcoming book, she discusses her sexual experimentation with Greg Brady, how she fell into coke, and it includes the following info: "A contractor named Harrison Ford made her a special hot tub with a hidden compartment she used to stash cocaine."
Grade: C (gold ore)


Fig. 1

Fig. 2

Fig. 3

Fig. 4

Fig. 5

Psychologist and novelist Paul Verhaeghen describes himself as "somewhat mood disordered," and says, "one of the things I do is think about something over and over and over again, and that's when I start writing." However, "if you think about stuff in your life and you start thinking about it again, and again, and again, and you kind of spiral away in this continuous rumination about what's happening to you and to the world — people who do that are at risk for depression." Obsessive rumination and reflection can lead to insightful and surprising works of art; Verhaeghen mentions David Foster Wallace, whose "breathless" sentences "need to be annotated, and the annotations need to be annotated again." However, these same mental habits can get the brain stuck in painful patterns, as David Foster Wallace, who committed suicide on September 12, no doubt knew.

The idea that creativity and mental illness are connected is an old one, and one that has done a lot of damage. Miserable people have created some beautiful things, but the belief that misery is necessary for art, or the price one pays for the gift of artistic genius, may discourage artists from getting treatment. It also reinforces the notion some depressed people have that their worldview is the correct one, and that happy people just aren't paying enough attention. And it encourages people like Eric Wilson, author of Against Happiness, to wish for just a little bit of depression — enough to write good books, but not enough to commit suicide. Like people who misguidedly wish for a little anorexia to trim those extra 20 pounds, boosters of mild artistic depression forget that mental illness isn't like gas for your brain — you don't just get to pump in how much you want.

However, acknowledging that bipolar disorder can be linked to creativity could have an upside. It's popular today to view mental problems as diseases, like diabetes, that afflict people with no connection to their personalities. But mental illness is more complicated than that. It's often difficult to separate one mental illness from another, and to separate the symptoms of mental illness from the traits of character. If we viewed people holistically, we might be better able to help them live happily and healthily, without giving up what makes them unique.

Experts ponder link between creativity, mood disorders [CNN]

[Image via Oh! My God! I Miss You]

Last week happened to be my 5-year recovery day. On September 9, 2003, I checked in to an intensive inpatient ED unit, in a wheelchair, with barely anything left of my body or my brain and a heart rate of 43 beats per minute. Four months later, I walked out happier, healthier, and scared to death.

Getting well in the safety of the hospital is one thing; staying in recovery once you leave is another. I had seen women leave and come back to the hospital during the course of my stay; the world was too hard for them to deal with and their ED came raging back. I threw away everything in my life that reminded me of being sick: my old clothes, sick pictures, and the scale that I stood on every morning. The one thing I kept was my journal from the time, which had scrawls from the hospital all over it. On one page I had written something that still scares and stays with me:

Do Not Forget This: you saw your friends plugged into walls, you heard about their melting intestines, you saw her without her teeth on a Tuesday morning, you began to remember your own life as soon as you picked up a spoon.

It is easy, I think, for those of us with eating disorders to fall back into old patterns. The ED voice is a total bitch, hellbent on destroying everything that you are, were, or want to be. In any given moment of weakness — a sudden change, an illness, a breakup, etc — the ED voice swoops right in, as if to say, "Don't worry about the world, Fatty. You still have me." However, the further along I have come in recovery, the weaker that ED voice gets. It also helps that I picture the ED voice looking like Joan and Melissa Rivers on the red carpet, so whenever I get a case of the "you're fats" I just think, "Help! My daughter's not talented!" and that seems to work things out.

Also, I have a kickass treatment team in place that I still see once a month, to keep me on track.

It took a very long time, but once I went into recovery, I never looked back. When you lose that part of yourself, you begin to remember who you were before you were just bones and numbers and calories. You start to see things differently, to appreciate small, quiet things that your ED never let you notice before. You eat a fucking Snickers bar for breakfast and you feel like Michael Phelps should mail you a gold medal, because you are such a champion.

I know that people like to portray anorexia as an illness of vanity, but that's about as far from the truth as you can get. Anorexia is never about the weight. The weight is a symptom, a distraction. The need to starve one's self, to concentrate on numbers and sizes and measurements, is merely a means of coping, of drawing the brain away from whatever is hurting it so badly that the only way of dealing is to numb it out completely. It's a very quiet form of suicide. It is a way of telling the world that all you want to do is disappear. For me, it was also a way to say, "I need somebody to help me," as I come from a family that has both a history of mental illness and a history of ignoring mental illness in the hopes that it will just go away.

I realize how lucky I am to have received treatment; the insurance companies make it impossible for most women to complete their programs, leaving them in a state of flux as far as their recovery is concerned. I think that's why I work so hard to stay in recovery; I was given a chance to recover, a chance that many women with eating disorders won't get, and I don't intend to waste it. I remember the women who would come in and talk during my time in the hospital, the ones who would say, "I got better, and you can, too." At the time I thought they were full of shit. But now I know better, and I now I AM one of those women: I know there are many of you who read this site who are dealing with your own ED issues, and that at times recovery seems not only impossible, but unfathomable. Doves, this is not the case. Yes, recovery is hard, and it hurts, and it's a lot of work, but it is beautiful and worth it, and if I can do it, then trust me, so can you.

Earlier: Shun Your Friends & Learn A Cool New Eating Disorder In Teen Vogue!

[Image via Oh! My God! I Miss You]

"I can't help but look down on my friends when they give in to temptations like pizza or ice cream."

Uh, beg your pardon?

And! Across the page, another quote:

"I refuse to put anything poisonous—like processed foods—in my body. I'll stay this way forever."

Pretty extreme for a teen magazine, no?

If you flip back a page, you'll discover that these are not diet tips, per se, but quotes from real girls in a story about orthorexia. Orthorexia is a fixation on healthy eating, which Tara Gidus, National Spokesperson For the American Dietetic Association tells Teen Vogue: "It's not quite an eating disorder, but it is a form of disordered eating." Phew! As long as it's not an actual eating disorder, then we can promote it, right? Wait! Gidus goes on to say: "It could easily lead to bulimia if you binge on unhealthy food and feel like you need to get rid of it. And the rigid nature of the disease could also lead to anorexia."

Good to know! True, the magazine isn't outright suggesting readers try orthorexia, but here's the picture that appears in the photo shoot immediately preceding the orthorexia story:

[Teen Vogue]

Remember that when she started, with those famous shots by Corinne Day in The Face, Kate Moss was 15 years old. (She says of that shoot: "Corinne just wanted to bring out everything that I hated when I was 15. My bow legs, the mole on my breast, the way I laughed.") But by 1994, she was earning $2.6 million a year with contracts for Gucci, Louis Vuitton and, of course, Calvin Klein. Her rail-thin body sold jeans and fragrance, and became an "Obsession," to say the least. Previous supermodels, like Cindy Crawford and Naomi Campbell, were in possession of a more "robust" physique. But Kate Moss ushered in a new style. It started out as shocking, but everyone adjusted, and looking back, she doesn't even seem so skinny anymore! So. Thin was in, and it stayed stylish. Ms. Freeman writes: "In the next issue of Interview magazine, Moss admits that at times she was too thin: 'When I was doing shows ... nobody ever fed me. I didn't eat for a long time. Not on purpose ... I remember standing up in the bath one day, and there was a mirror in front of me, and I was so thin! I hated it. I never liked being that skinny.' Hilariously, the journalist, confirming all cliches about the fashion press, interrupts: 'I didn't think you were all that skinny.' But Moss stands admirably firm: 'I remember thinking, I don't want to be this skinny.'"

When a tipster sent us the link to the Guardian story (which was already on our radar) with the comment: "Kate Moss is the new Che Guevara. Ahem." I sort of rolled my eyes. But actually, the tipster, Hadley Freeman and Kate Moss are right: The fashion industry needs a revolution. And the chances of things being changed by someone from the outside are — forgive me — slim. Only someone who has been granted access into the inner sanctum, who is well-respected, who has worked in the trenches, who knows all the players and knows the game can actually make an impact. Will a post-coke scandal, open-about-starving-herself Kate Moss be the one? Can Kate Moss be a revolutionary in whole new way?

Only The Clotheshorses Can Buck Fashion's Thin Fixation, Fashion Industry Made Me Too Thin, Says Kate Moss [Guardian]

Rowan became fixated on food in her teens: Counting calories, weighing herself. She seems to have snapped out of it at age 17, but now she has daughters, 14 and 11. The 11 year old thinks that she is fat. Ms. Rowan writes:

"Oh Mummy, look at my fat tummy," she has wailed, tugging at a T-shirt in an effort to pull it over her waistband. Shopping for a swimming costume is angst-ridden. "Not a bikini," she stresses, "one that covers this up," pointing to her stomach. Her sensitivity is born of comments from her peers. "A friend told me," she confides, "to stop pushing my tummy out. I wasn't." … I ask our doctor if she is too heavy. And I feel ghastly, disloyal, like a vain, competitive designer mummy who wants her daughter to appear as perfect maternal accessory. He regards me as if that's precisely what I am. No, he says sharply, calculating her body mass index; she's fine. I cannot explain that I am asking so that I can reassure my little girl the next time she worries about the way she looks.

What happens when something goes mainstream is that people feel comfortable talking about it. It's a good thing that eating disordered people not feel shame or misunderstanding; but how come 11-year-olds feel it's okay to make comments about each others' bodies? And what message is sent when you take your (normal, healthy) daughter to the doctor to have her weight checked? And should we even be using words like "wannarexic" and "nearlyrexic"?

The Rise Of The 'Rexics': Another Illness We Made Up Earlier [Guardian]
Mummy, Do I Look Fat? [Times of London]

The International Journal of Eating Disorders study was conducted with 274 female students at a large southeastern university and compared the eating-related behaviors and attitudes of varsity athletes, club athletes, independent exercisers, and non-exercisers. Researchers are recommending that university coaches and athletic departments consider prevention and monitoring programs for female athletes and exercisers at universities. "As women's participation in athletics increases, so too does the need for awareness of the link between eating disorders and sports participation among women," says Jill Holm-Denoma of the University of Denver, lead author of the study.

Eating Disorder Symptoms More Common Among Female Athletes And Exercisers [EurekAlert]

Remember that eating disorders are inherently an existential struggle over the very notion of free will.
You can worsen them, and you can encourage them, but you cannot singlehandedly instill them in your kids, nor can you prevent them. The coolest thing about my mom is that she kind of got this. Her reaction to my adolescent 800-calorie-a-day diet was one of concern but also, exasperation; she had specifically taken such great care to rear me on healthy food and ABSOLUTELY NO MENTION OF MY WEIGHT; I was not even at all overweight, and now, as my big display of free will and rebellion I'd chosen anorexia? She made it clear she thought it was fundamentally shallow, and intellectually, I agreed, but by that point I had almost given up on free will when it came to eating; food issues were just my DESTINY, my curse and fate and blah blah blah. Anyway, that was probably mostly depression. I didn't medicate it, but eventually I suppose it subsided, and my intellect took the wheel again, which was lucky.

With that in mind, ask yourself, are you shallow?
What do you most want for your kid? Happiness and some sort of fulfillment, right? People of all sizes achieve that! The negative correlation between happiness and excess pounds, such that it exists, is totally all in your head, as the field of duh studies has recently confirmed. So if your kids think they're fat, you need to chew on this question: does that have anything to do with you? (Chewing on said question, btw, is a good way to stop yourself from nagging your poor kid!) Like I said, are you shallow? If so, is that the trait you'd most like to pass onto our progeny? (Please, for the good of the country, answer "No.") Conversely, are you so dogmatically un-shallow that they think you just don't have any idea what sort of world world they're living in? That was sort of my problem. In the end it was a good one to have. It was like, hey, the one genetic advantage I have here is that my parents are bright people with strong moral values who don't give a shit how fat I get, except inasmuch as they know I don't exactly have health insurance.

Be honest and remember it's not a big deal.
Acting like a kid's chubbing out is a grave issue that must be discussed in hushed tones is probably not the best idea, especially if they have the sort of grandfather (mine) who will go up to them and play the "Pinch an inch" game. While the Pinch an Inch game is annoying, I never really doubted that my grandfather loved me. I think he just thought kids today spent too much time watching the idiot box and not enough playing elaborate war games in the woods. And he had a point! I asked my friend Don, a former fat kid, whether his mom (a personal idol of mine) had ever said anything to him about his weight, and he recalled a time one summer at the age of 13 when he was eating a piece of pizza while wearing a swimsuit and somehow the topic of his blubber came up. Laughing, she agreed, "Yeah, you really have to do something about that." A few years later, when he stopped eating meat, she worried she'd scarred him; but seriously, Don was picked on his entire childhood for being a fat kid, and she basically played it perfectly, choosing to encourage his positive traits (such as he is fucking hilarious) and accept that he was never going to be as physically attractive as she is. (She is, to be fair here, really pretty.)

Don recommends this movie.
It is, he says, his "Exile in Guyville."

Earlier: Sometimes A Parent's Words Can Bear The Weight Of The World

Image via Skip To My Lou

It occurs to me that frequently in these columns, there is a moment where, finally alone and generally late into the night of a long day, I find myself reduced to tears by some list of knocks and slights. Perhaps this only means I need a new device; I don’t think of myself as such a sad sack figure as all that. But this week, actually the night after my spirit-crushing turn as a volunteer clotheshorse for a designer who most definitely could have afforded to pay me, my sadness metastasized not into tears, but into a rage-inflected political platform that just might transform my industry.

Well, OK, first I cried. Then I thought: models should unionize to work for better conditions and rates of pay.

It’s a common misconception that modeling is easy, safe and highly lucrative — the reality is that the girls with the million-dollar campaigns are so rare I wouldn’t believe they actually existed if I didn’t see them at night clubs during fashion week. Most models I know are lucky if they are working at all; between agency commissions (70% in Paris, 50% in Milan, 20% in New York), travel expenses, and rent in the various pricey cities in which we are required to live, your eventual wages come so garnished I’ve known plenty of models who can’t always afford food. Even the girls who are lucky enough to work every day are doing well if they break even, and can sneak off to Germany or Los Angeles or Hong Kong and make a quick buck shooting catalog jobs every once in a while.

And safe? Once I was staying with a girl from Seattle in a shitty one-bedroom (total number of models: six! Minimum in rent our agency would’ve made from the shitty one-bedroom that month, assuming a consistent model population: $5400!). We were both on option for the same editorial (daily rate: $150 and lunch). She got the job.

She returned home nine hours later, hair and body painted silver. The magazine was doing a “green” issue; this eco-conscious theme was enacted in, variously, shots in which the poor Seattle girl had a tulip plant placed in her mouth, shots in which she had to lie on top of a scratchy 8 ft. hedgerow while the photographer shot from a crane, and shots in which she closed her eyes and shards of broken glass were applied to her face. They put dirt in her mouth and glass on her eyelids and painted her silver from head to toe. My roommate showered twice and vomited once that night.

Models have incredibly short-lived careers, and our collective youth, third-world origins, and the instability of the market we work in makes our bargaining positions, individually, weak. For every 15-year-old wunderkind who stalks 40 runways a season and books $100,000 perfume campaigns for college money, there are at least a hundred girls who turn 25 with a few grand in bank at best, realize their careers are over, and that they never graduated high school.

It’s also no wonder given how close many models are to insolvency that there are areas where modeling shades into prostitution; modeling sort of prepares you — trains you, even — to see your income in your own body. And also to hang around with plenty of creepy, older, rich dudes. A + B can = C. The BBC did an exposé in 2000 that caught Milanese businessmen on hidden camera trying to buy sex from models as young as 13 in night clubs, and uncovered evidence of agency bookers acting as procurers and drug dealers. In the furor that ensued, Gérard Marie and Xavier Moreau, two top executives at the Elite agency, lost their jobs. The industry promised a clean-up. There was talk of “standards,” of girls younger than 17 being accompanied by chaperones at all times, of blacklisting clients who used or promoted drugs.

Gérard Marie — who was filmed soliciting a reporter who he thought was a model for sex — is currently back at the helm of Elite Paris. I do not know if the man who explained his desire to sleep with underaged models thusly: “We are men, we have our needs” has reformed. I do know that such episodes of revolving-door contrition and forgiveness fill me with disgust, and that one of the biggest tasks of any models’ union would be to keep its membership safe.

A union would also offer, obviously, the benefits of collective bargaining. The overwhelming counterweight of the fashion business class’s wealth give models an unacceptably weak negotiating position. A union could help insure models’ best long-term interests are served by their jobs — a union could argue for retirement benefits, and, in the USA, health insurance coverage. A union could mandate that sufficient time be given for models under 16 to attend school, without setting back their careers. A union could also serve as a voice for models’ interests in the ongoing debate over what is perhaps our biggest immediate health issue — the slightly-underweight physique we are required to maintain. A union could protest and shame under- and non-paying clients, a union could mandate that appropriate food be available at every job, and a union could ensure that conditions on the job site always meet safety standards, so nobody has to pose covered in broken glass or eat dirt ever again.

The obvious counterpoint to modeling is, of course, acting. The Screen Actors’ Guild does an admirable job of representing the interests of a workforce that is dispersed over a vast geography, and which enjoys short-term contract-based employment, when it gets employment at all. It’s ironic that one of the reasons commercial modeling — catalogs, television ads and their ilk — is so rewarding when compared with high-fashion modeling — magazine editorials, runway, etc — is because of SAG’s vigilance; commercial castings in Los Angeles are not infrequently stated union jobs. And even the ones that are non-union are pretty highly paid. I have friends who are only able to work full-time in Paris because they have commercials still airing in the U.S., and receive the appropriate checks quarterly.

Individually, we are weak, and wealthy white men manage to make an awful lot of cash off our bodies and labor. Collectively, we could hold the industry we work in to a higher standard, and perhaps even change the nature of fashion itself. I imagine the union would have an awful lot to say, for instance, about those clients who put “NO ETHNICS” on their casting notices, and those agencies who fail to notice, or care, that certain of their charges have eating disorders.

Of course there are plenty of reasons to doubt any of this will come to pass. The economy is especially dreadful right now; any moves to unionize would be viewed as a threat by the class that controls the fashion capital. Besides, every year there’s a new raft of 14-year-olds from countries with economies far shittier than ours, and these 14-year-olds are all six feet tall and very, very hungry. And, through no fault of their own, they exercise a huge deflationary force on the modeling labor market. But it occurred to me, as I was working that presentation for that designer who amuses herself by collecting Picasso, that the reason she was paying the security guards at the event and not me was because the security guards have a union. And I don’t.

I want to at least try my best to change that.

E-mail Tatiana at Tatiana.Anymodel@gmail.com

Earlier: Welcome To America, Models! Tatiana Can't Wait For The Extra Competition. It Was Almost Getting Too Easy.

Related:

Model Bosses Quit After BBC Exposé [BBC]
Girls Interrupted [NY Mag]

• There's a rise in so-called "caffeine moms" who need a high amount of caffeine (4 energy drinks, 3 cups of coffee, and a six-pack of soda, according to one woman) to get through the day. • A former real estate agent has been jailed for 10 years in England after she kidnapped and tortured a former boss that had fired her. • A school in Thailand has created a gender-neutral bathroom for transgendered and gay students which make up 10% of the large school's population. • The Volkswagen Tiguan is the number one car for women because it is efficient and practical (and maybe sort of cute!). • A 3-year-old girl called 911 after her mom fainted by memorizing the simply lyrics "9-1-1 green" that her mom taught her. • A new study in Australia has found that men get stressed while in traffic which leads to them being less careful while driving than women. • Although anorexia has been found by many studies to be a biological disease, most states will not recognize it as a mental disease required for coverage by insurance companies. • Constant flip flop wear can be very damaging for your feet. Good, because flip flops are gross! • A rare copy of Jane Austen's novel, Emma sold for $353,500 at a recent auction, setting a new auction record for a printed book by a British author. • Brooklyn teens, many of whom are refugees from foreign countries, have their first prom at the International High School at Prospect Park.

Deny.
So it doesn't take Frederic Jameson to recognize in John Prescott some maaaayjor class issues. He talks on and on about his problems with "grammar" which the writer suggests he is actually mistaking for "syntax." The son of a Welsh railway worker and child of divorce, the "defining experience in his life" was failing a test sixty years ago and he only got to Oxford through some deal set up with his union. "I didn't feel adequate. I felt inferior and guilty, and I've always had a chip on my shoulder," he admits to the writer, who helpfully calls him "conspicuously working class." But did any of this secret shame/unease within his context/impostor complex play into his compulsion to consume barbaric amounts of Peking Duck and Digestives cookies only to — essentially the dietary equivalent of cheating on a test — puke them all into a Parliament latrine later on? Nah. Says Prescott of his first visit to the eating disorder clinic:

They ask you about your parents. I wasn't too convinced about all that, and walking into a room full of women was a bit embarrassing, but I did it.

A better idea: maybe get more sleep..
This is a good if obvious point. People always eat more when they're tired because the extra energy/indigestion keeps them awake. But when it's time to sleep, the indigestion is less helpful:

I get so tired. The only thing that stops me working is eating. Remember my box [his red ministerial box] comes at 11 at night, and I'm up at seven. I work my box [until] one o'clock. If you want to relax, you eat. Then you begin to find you've eaten too much and actually get a relief from expelling it, and then you're into that.

Focus bile on the haters. (Who are probably just as fat as you.)
Prescott points out that a lot of the shame of admitting one has an eating disorder is the fact that a lot of eating disorders, for all the psychic havoc they wreak, do not have the desired effect of making you thin, rendering the act of keeping them up absurd. But like, yeah, motherfucker, of course eating disorders are absurd; that's why he wrote the book!

They say I'd failed because I was still fat. Notice how fat they are, the ones who are writing it. You can gain weight. The mistake to make is you assume you expel the food immediately. You don't. You wait. If you look at the letters that have arrived, you're staggered: 'I'm so glad that you've said it. My daughter, who's 19, she's been doing that and now she's come to me and said: if John Prescott did it, it's not so abnormal is it?"

No we can't tell you the price of Sigrid's Just Cavalli jacket. If you have to ask you probably think sprinting in a snakeskin motorcycle jacket and bangle bracelets is a good idea but it will probably only make you die from dehydration and Teen Vogue likes to look out for its readers.

This is ping-pong, "their way." The Etro scarf and Leekan necklace are unpriced and we'd say they're pretty optional anyway, but those yellow Louise Goldin goggles are obviously an imperative so why can't we get a price on that? In other news, that cuff is $439.

Perhaps you always thought beach volleyball players, so ripped and bronze and well-adjusted, exemplified some sort of platonic sportsgirl ideal…

But you would be forgetting the critical necessity of a $225 metallic swimsuit so high-cut you can't wear it without matching booty shorts!

And finally, fencing. Who knew donning puffy white astronaut garb and swordfighting with nerds could be sexy?

Why…Veronique Leroy! Who obviously designed these platform shoes — no we can't tell you the price — with your epee in mind.

Earlier: Vogue's World's Best Bodies
"Girls Hurt": The Soccer Story That Will Pain Your Pretty Little Head
Teen Vogue Message Boards: "I Gained Alot Of Weight Over The Summer. It's Disgusting"
Alexandra Michael Is About 28 Pounds Too Fat For Modeling

So here's the thing: Rachel Moss seems like an intelligent, cool, normal person. What the fuck do such people really want with mocking the fats? Did I not get the memo about how fat-trolling burns calories? I have friends like this. Indie rock listening friends who preach tolerance and limiting their carbon intakes low and desiring change in government — and yeah, Moss is an Obama girl! — who nevertheless disdain fat people and for whom being relatively thin almost seems to be a conversational prerequisite. Because fat people remind them of the suburbs they so detested as hopelessly victimized youths? I guess. But isn't that just so boring? Yes. So boring I wouldn't bother posting about it, except for my fear that such people are totally going to turn into Republicans one day.

The Offending Post
Public Shaming [Amptoons]
The Dimensions Of Hypersurfaces

It was no small feat for the Mattel lawyers to track me down, probably because I had so cleverly in the interim changed my common-law name to "Moe," but after numerous false starts they finally convinced me and seven or eight lawyers to show up in a conference room someplace downtown for a few hours of grilling about a story about which I couldn't have ethically provided any information even if I remembered it, which I of course did not. As we left, my lawyer, the in-house counsel of Dow Jones, marveled at the billable hours that had been assembled for our presence alone. It was enough to fund a reality show-worthy bar mitzvah. And they'd been at this case for years!

Today the case is supposed to go to trial and I am apparently, according to an email from the Gawker office manager, to be there, although I am not, because I don't leave my house to buy toilet paper if there is perfectly decent newspaper lying around, and the thing is going down in California. But it's fascinating to read about the internal memos describing the increasingly heated battles between these two dolls: "The House Is On Fire!" one is titled; fixing the problem will require "grenades."

"Complacency will kill us," the company concluded.

But when you live in a country in which a few sketches depicting dolls with stoned eyes and platform shoes and oversized heads vaguely conjuring anorexia is multibillion dollar "intellectual property" whose protection demands numerous eight figure retainers funding whole divisions of preposterously well-educated legal minds and even holds a few multimillion dollar holiday bonuses in the balance, it's hard to feel anything other than "complacency."

Brawl Over Doll Is Heading To Trial

HOT TO TROT: Can pasty, less-than-svelte legs be buffed, sloughed and depuffed into picture-perfect condition in a mere 24 hours?

Um, I'm thinking your legs have to be a slightly less-than-less-than-svelte brand of pasty than mine, but seriously, what kind of challenge is this even? If you don't have time to give a shit about your legs, don't you just wear pants? And where would you suddenly find the time, money and uh, motivation to buy six kinds of anti-cellulite cream, wrap yourself in Saran Wrap overnight, consult numerous professional bloat-removers and perform thousands of squats and lunges? Well duh, you wouldn't. And that is the point. You are not that ridiculous. Look! Elle just made you feel good about yourself!

Sunday Breakfast 2 poached eggs with 3 slices veggie bacon Lunch 3 oz fresh turkey breast with ½ cup each of chopped cucumber and tomatoes Dinner 3 to 5 oz grilled salmon with ½ cup steamed Brussels sprouts or ½ cup steamed spinach

Monday
Breakfast
1 cup vanilla — or plain — nonfat rice milk and one poached egg
Lunch
2 sushi rolls (about 10 pieces total) of your choice (none should include mayo, nor may you add soy sauce)
Snack
1 cup soy pudding
Dinner
3 to 5 oz grilled chicken breast with ½ cup steamed spinach

Tuesday
Breakfast
1 cup vanilla — or plain — nonfat rice milk and one poached egg
Lunch
2 celery stalks with 2 to 4 tsp almond butter
Dinner
3 to 5 oz fresh turkey breast with 1 sweet potato