Japan’s Next Top Model

Some of you may remember that a few months ago, I took Nico to sign up at a modeling agency here in Tokyo. Since then we haven’t heard from them at all save for one call that was actually for me. Unfortunately I was in Utah at the time and therefore have no idea what kind of work they were calling about. I like to imagine that it was to star in the next Issey Miyake runway show but I suppose it was more along the lines of narrating a peanut butter commercial. Knowing Japanese marketing tactics, I’m guessing that they’d probably have me saying something like "Let’s Peanut Butter!" It would have been fun but alas, it was not to be which means that our family’s future as high profile celebrities now rests in the hands of Nico. It’s about time he started pulling his weight around here anyway. He’s had a free ride for almost 10 months now and enough is enough. Granted, his presence has added a bit of much needed sheen to our floors, what with his constant back and forth creeping, but that’s about it as far was I can see. Being adorable and polishing floors didn’t cut it in Cinderella’s household and it’s not going to cut it in this one either. No siree bob.

So with that in mind, off we went to another modeling agency that we’d heard specialized in work for children. The entire way there I kept thinking to myself things like, "You know what the great thing about this is? It’s that I really don’t care if anything comes of it. I’m just not the type who really cares about stuff like this like some mothers do. Sure if it works out it’ll be fun and we’ll have some cute pictures as souvenirs for when we leave Japan but if it doesn’t work then who cares?" "I’ll never become one of those scary freaky pushy stage mothers" I thought smugly as I arrived at the agency.

The transformation took mere seconds. "Oh my god, that baby is sooo totally NOT cute" I thought bitchily as the child ahead of us was carried out of his "interview". When it was our turn to talk with the agency lady, a high pitched sing-song voice emerged from a very very deep, dark and previously hidden part of my soul. "Oh yes he’s a very happy happy little guy aren’t you honey!!! Yes you are! Oh yes you are my little booboo head! Oh booboobooboo goo! Do you want to be a little model wodel??! Oh yes you do dontchooo?!" As I heard myself speaking I began thinking that perhaps I should have brought along a video camera to document our experience. Our very own reality show! One baby’s journey towards becoming Japan’s Next Top Model! Of course we’d need other contestants I supposed. And judges. We’d definitely need to have a judging panel. A couple of nice guy judges but more importantly we needed our Simon Cowell/Janice Dickinsonish judge. I pictured it all- the spitting, the scratching, the biting, the name calling. The judges with their catty comments- "Listen kid, you’re really not on your game today. The snot caked nostrils are just not doing it for me. And what the hell were you thinking when you poohed right in the middle of that shot? Do you actually think we can use that photo now with your face all red and that concentrated expression on your face? You were supposed to look like you were eating your first birthday cake for godsakes! And what’s going on with your outfit? It looks as though you ate Mickey Mouse and then vomited him back up all over yourself. Also those booties. So 1987 and NOT in a retro cool way."

We signed the contract and now I’m sitting here at home next to the phone. It’s not ringing.