text: “Me, me, me, me, this attention I am an unable escape. I don't think they can get enough of me. Cameras, like the pupils of a full crowd, attached, hooked deep onto my curves, fixated on this face with a smile big enough to lay upon. “Yes Honey, just like that, anyone would die just to step foot in those shoes.” These shoes, Ha! Just these twenty thousand dollar babies, the diamonds like blades made from ice cut deep into my ankles but, it's fine, I'm not walking for too long in them, I'm just standing, standing tall for the eyes of the world to witness. These shoes, no, I didn't buy them myself how could it, they were given to me just for this shoot. I've never stood in extremely expensive shoes. Now I hope I get this job because there would be nothing I want more than to stand in extremely expensive shoes! “This dress!, am I staring at an angel or what?!” This dress, saturated with the smallest iridescent sequins, shiny enough to mock the sun with its outstanding glisten. \*Flash\* One snap after the other the reflections off my chest, act as a strike of lightning, splitting the pupils of all who are standing before me. A fire burns within my heart. “Not long now! keep that smile up, put that makeup to use. Guys, we have gold before us here!” Well, Gold. I'm indeed flattered. So the thick plaster-like paint on my face makes me comparable to one of the most valuable elements on Earth? Yeah, I can see it. No, I'm not pompous, it’s just that the people here are in constant awe of me. It's like I'm the goddess who has, at last, brought their long-awaited gifts of unattainable happiness. Ok, maybe I'm a little. “Ok sweetheart, the job is yours come back next week and we will get you started with some exciting stuff!” ***It's Far From A Dream!*** Delighted at the results, however, these plastic compliments are not strong enough to fool the most foolish of fools, I'm too smart to be fooled. I believe these people expect girls to be those dumb, ‘being rich is fun because look how good I look!’, type girls. Ha! well I ain’t that. ‘Whatever Shauna!’ I would tell myself Don’t get me wrong, being a genuine human being among the stupidity of this industry comes to my advantage, although I was starting to feel as if I'm being used, used as the shrimp on the fisherman’s hook for another person's fortune. Argh, ‘Shut up Shauna, you're just overthinking it, enjoy it while you can. Think about it, you can become famous!’ You will become famous. ***Curse NOT A Blessing:*** It was 2018 and the time finally came for me to have the photo shoot of my dreams, the shoot for a, no, *the* most beloved magazine, my debut in fact! The cameraman fulfilled his words. Ever since I was a little girl my singular desire was to be featured on its cover. Funnily enough, my dreams became a reality, as cliche as it sounds. *Unlucky* me had at last been selected. Unlucky me, you ask? Well... ever since that day onward life has been the utter epitome of hell upon Earth. No amount of chocolate could fix this, and chocolate can fix everything. How does one get famous with such speed? Honestly, I'm going to say this now, and you might think I'm crazy but I absolutely rather live on the streets than be involved in this shit anymore. Yes, I did say that being featured on the front cover of my favourite magazine was my childhood desire, though I am unable to locate any hint of decency to come out of it. This is indeed a dream for the ignorant. Just if I knew being treated like a little girl's God damn barbie doll was the reality behind my idyllic perception of happiness, I'd still be working at fucking a deli. ***This Is How It Really Is:*** What's there to fancy about being forced to sit still for hours on end to have your little face painted with a thick acidic substance. A substance powerful enough to corrode the pillars of the golden gate bridge, let alone the skin of a human being. ‘*No*’ isn't an option at this stage, I wanted it and I got it. What's there to admire about having a fist full of sharp syringes pumping what feels like a tone of plastic into your lips because they are too small? Okay, may as well call me a fat fucking pig while you’re at it. What's there to love about being forced to stand still for hours in a tight ass dress limiting any blood from circulating through to your legs? Didn't expect to have that *big shiny dress* pierce deep into my back and chest with the slightest micro-movements. Just the thought of moving my arms in this current state was a temptation by the devil himself. What's there to enjoy about having your feet moulded, kneaded like dough in high heels steep enough to crawl under? Glitter particles, a glamours substitute for fucking sandpaper eroding away at your poor ankles. O' the joy this brings me. ***Yeah, It's Nothing Special:*** Ever since that day forward, the day when the director at the audition has been that big fat ’yes’ I blew a kiss filled with a melancholy heartache to say goodbye to my dear precious normal. It didn't occur to me at the time because was entranced by success, go me! Wow, go, fucking, me! Having all the money in the world is not enough to replace this artificial smile, this plastic expression which has stretched my face into what I view today as a day old half-chewed piece of gum. Not even if your room service bill can sometimes cost some people's entire life savings. Yes, I know I sound like Earth's most ungrateful piece of shit and yes I agree to the fact I'm that whiney white bitch who has literally everything one could ever want and yet remains dissatisfied. But fuck, how I miss my dear precious normal.