3 Minutes with a Supermodel
I was sitting at work looking at a contact list that seemed tired and worn. How many times could I call the same list of people that I’ve already met and try to extract $10,000 from their bad economy ravaged pocket books? My frustration was growing as large as the rubberband ball that I was creating from the daily mail. While I have certainly raised the levels of sales in a previously sleepy Design Center showroom, I need something more than the measly marketing budget that my company provides. We are a start up venture in this country, but I need to spread the word about the greatest bed in the world.
The phone rang. A customer? “How would you like to be on the Tyra Banks Show in a couple of days and present the Elite TV bed?” It isn’t easy to answer a question like that. If the choice was between lying on the couch and relaxing because of the stress that my job has placed on my circulatory system or going into a terrifying pit of potential lameness, the choice might be simple. However, a little known fact about me prevails…I’ve always wanted to be on TV and I have this little itch to grab some of my 15 minutes of fame that I’ve never had before. So, I said – “Yes.”
I called Christina. She was as excited as I was shaken. Her faith in my abilities seems to outstrip my own at times. What is it that she sees in me? Sure, I can tell a joke or two and make a few funny faces, but this is national TV. It is raw. I’m exposed here. Seeing myself in a mirror is a rare occurrence. Maybe I don’t look like Brad Pitt after all. When all the lights are shining on me will everyone know that I’m a fake charmer. Does anyone realize that I flop sweat harder than Albert Brooks in Broadcast News? Will anyone remember that I was the kid that would hold back in high school and hang in the shadows for fear that I had nothing interesting to say? It is only with Christina’s help that I seem to grow the pair that I’ve always claimed to have. Yes, this time. It has so rarely been “Yes”.
I ended my day at work a bit earlier on this day – only one hour longer than the rest of the showrooms in the Design Center. We went to Daffy’s to buy an outfit. Discount shopping for clothing that serves only to make me look like less of a jerk. Most companies would pay for the spokesperson’s clothing, but I know that this wasn’t going to happen. The next day or so would be sleepless, agitated, and full of a looping playback of my appearance on national TV dancing in my head. It hadn’t happened yet. In my head, I could hear the crickets, the silent reactions, and the diva-like meanderings of a supermodel whom I didn’t know much about. The Tyra Banks show was as big of a mystery to me as a $35,000 bed was to them.
In 10th grade, I sat on a panel in front of a class full of English students talking about television. In a random selection of panelists from the room, we had to discuss various topics about TV that other students would bring up through questioning. I dominated that day. Being completely contrarian, aloof, sarcastic, and somewhat caustic, I shook up that little discussion to cover my nervousness in front this crowd of people that never really got to know me. The invisible man was turning opaque. The conversation turned into a Crossfire-like debate about the superficial quality of the entertainment of the day and my desire to be “real”. In the end, it was my first chance to be noticed by an audience that never connected to me. While I had made many appearances in front of a crowd at home talking into my brush in front of the mirror, whenever I had to step up at school, I was choking on my own air.
On the train to New York City my mind raced. I heard that the bed was going to arrive late. I couldn’t stop fixating on my sweating. “If I’m sweating this much on this air-conditioned train, I’m doomed.” “What if she asks me if I have the bed myself? I don’t. I should. Why don’t they make this easier on me?” “Where are they all? This is a pressure cooker that I’m going through alone and my company is nowhere to be found?” So many questions. The answers were always going negative in my mind. I was setting myself up to choke on my air again. I had to fix it and do it quickly. To force yourself to get excited about a rare opportunity isn’t easy when you have no idea what the opportunity is going to be.
I arrived at New York’s Penn Station without fanfare. Expecting the driver to pick me up at the escalator was naïve, I guess. This doesn’t happen to me often. As I walked endlessly around the bustling Madison Square Garden complex looking for my needle in a haystack driver, I wondered why I hadn’t asked where to pick up the car. I wasn’t getting this most basic part of my day right. Getting a cab around this area is impossible unless you stand in the cab stand line. The line was as long as the lineup of kids going to see the Tyra Banks show, I thought. So I started walking around New York City trying to hail a cab in the most desperate way. When I arrived at the studio, I was soaking wet from perspiration. Plagued, I tell you. I was almost as sweaty as my interview for the job nearly two years ago. Israeli companies like their showrooms to be the temperature of the Nagev. However, I would sweat in a wine cellar whenever the pressure is on.
Having a PR person meeting me at the show is crazy. I’ve had to be my own one man PR gang for this job. I run the showroom by myself. I make the signs. I make all the effort. My hustle was my hallmark on the basketball court and the tennis court. I’ve never hustled so much in my life. The PR person was very friendly. She’d been through this before. She was talking a lot. I couldn’t tell if it was making me more nervous or less. The day before the owner of my company called to give me advice about the appearance. I wondered why he wasn’t doing it if he was so clued in. His advice about “not being myself” was more funny than rude. This was on me – so I didn’t expect or need a lot of help. This was a battle between me and the kid that I’ve always been fighting against. Most people would call me a “bon vivant”. Little did they know that it is a façade of shyness and doubt that allows me to say outrageous things or joke with such reckless abandon. His advice has been decent at times. However, on this day, I was going to do the exact opposite of his advice. On the show, I was going to be the me that I’ve always wrestled to the mat. The guy that a lot of people see but many never see. The guy that had me on the “funniest guy” list and the “shiest guy” list in high school at the same time was going to finally be put to rest.
A green room with my name on it. I had always hoped that if this happened, I would be changing the world with my words. I wasn’t here. Selling a luxury bed is pretty unnecessary for the continuation of the species. But this is a nice start. The rooms were filled with a combination of the nicest fresh-faced kids that I’ve ever met and hookers, pimps, pole dancers, and sex experts. I felt like the oldest person in the vicinity. The Tyra Banks show staff was the nicest bunch of people that I’ve ever encountered in this type of environment. I hope to be able to test that theory in the future. While they are all well-meaning, they seem frustrated. Everyone who works there wants to be famous and has found him or herself lying under the leaves of it here. They are the backbone of this organization. They are over-enthusiastic about their craft because they want to pump us up. I needed it. Calming the nerves was the chore here and a 24 year old girl trying to make it in this world by being nice was a decent antidote. I appreciated that.
Heady stuff getting makeup. Since I shaved my head, I don’t look in the mirror that much. I’m not sure why. Having someone putting make-up on my shaved head made me more nervous. The girls in the makeup room were all taking about Oprah. These people are all talk show machines. They churn out one silly segment after the next. I went from one train to another. This train was running and I was only going to be a brief passenger. But every passenger has a story. My seat on this train was headed to a future that finally put the nerves and doubt behind me. It was a challenge to conquer my greatest enemy…doubt. While my trip was going to be short, I’ve waited a long time for this journey.
A wardrobe person came by the green room to approve my outfit. He was wearing a funny looking get up. In fact, it wasn’t very tasteful. As he gave me his verdict, I already knew the answer. Christina was right again. Her choices were spot on. The source of power that you can generate at moments like that is astounding. I wasn’t in this alone. The support was growing through the fence like a great wisteria. Without Christina, I would never have said yes to this opportunity. It wasn’t just for me. I wanted to prove it to her.
The microphone was placed on me. I had to go to the bathroom after that and wondered if they were listening to me pee in the control room. Peeing in a toilet that had been previously occupied by a Cirque de Soleil pole dancer is funny. In fact, the entire backstage are was awash with ridiculousness. What was this show? What the heck am I doing on this show? It didn’t really matter. This was an exercise in exorcizing a demon. Finally. Once and for all. The make-up was holding back the sweat like a finger in a dyke. I was experiencing the sensation of my ventricle pulsing through my cheek. I was nervous. The wait was getting exhausting. It was time to go.
As I walked down the ramp towards the stage, the smiles were everywhere. Were they smiling at me or trying to make me smile…I still don’t know. An audience of screaming unemployed 24-year-old girls is as close to the demographic that I’d put on this audience. For many moments, we haggled about the bed, the angles, and the segment, until someone said. “You’ll be great….ok, lets go.” I was surprised because I had been told that I was going to rehearse this. Who needs to rehearse a pitch that I’ve made every day for two years? The rehearsals were over. It was time for me to be “real”.
Tyra stepped onto the stage and the applause sign started flashing and the crowd went nuts. It was total emotional chaos for everyone but me. And maybe Tyra. This eerie calm came over me. It was a very pleasant serenity. I was saying “Yes” and the climax was a lack of nerves, sweat, and doubt. To wing it, is a great relief. Let the chips fall where they may and live with the consequences. Christina’s beautiful face flashed in my mind’s eye as I remember the excitement that flickered in her eyes. She’s always wanted me to create, act, and do without daring to allow the demon of doubt enter the picture. Like Popeye’s spinach, a great love will grow a bicep or two.
Tyra was exactly as I imagined. She looked like a huge 18-year-old girl and she acted a bit like one. When she came out before the camera went on – she was bitching a bit about the circumstances. When the lights went on – she was a star. A star who seemed to dumb down her own show because she didn’t think that the audience could take it. She acts out the most simple concepts like “up,” “shake,” or “lying down,” as if she’d invented the concepts. However, I did feel locked into her. It felt unbelievably like there was a momentary chemistry. She caught onto a joke or two during the segment. I respect that. Most people don’t get them…she did. For three or four minutes, I was back onstage in a 10th grade class on steroids and growing a set. And it felt amazing. I have no idea how it went or if it was anything worth seeing, but the impact on me was revolutionary. I’ll only sweat from this point forward because I’m hot. When the camera stopped, the train moved on. I was left to decide whether or not I’d achieved anything. I had. I made good on a promise to myself that I’d stop saying “No.” You can teach an old dog new tricks.
It is only my new beginning.