Runway Academics ❀ {ohshc}

behind the curtain

｛It would be a lie if one were to say that she wasn't already accustomed to the bright lights blaring into her eyes. The feeling of fingers prying at her, dressing her up in the most extravagant (and hella expensive) of clothing, much like she was some overgrown porcelain doll. The heavy layers of mascara that slathered her lashes, eyeliner thick and bold and often neon---especially if the designer running the show had some sort of modern theme going on.｝

You see, models have to put up with this sort of thing on a painfully regular basis. That includes the starving, the perfecting of runway walks, the achy, bruised ankles after wearing high heels for way too long.

Josie Anne Tashodi put up with it since she reached the tender age of two. Modified versions, of course, but if one wanted to be on the cover of Vogue Bambini, than they certainly gotta work for it.

With supermodel parents, it was only natural she too would get dragged into the fashion industry---by the toenails, if needed.

Because come hell or high water, she was going to be a model, and her parents were going to get their way (as parents always infamously do). Josie realized this at a young age (the smart girl) and decided to simply just . . . go with the flow.

Speaking of which, the girl shut her eyes as she felt the hair stylist begin to spray a bunch of various (chemically) styling products into her hair, greasing it back to perfection. It felt disgusting, sure, but she learned to suck it up.

Next came the popping cherry lipstick, smoothly coating her lips with the expertise of a professional makeup artist. She had on what, twenty layers of that now?

"Only ten minutes till the show starts," said makeup artist informed, right as she plucked a stray eyebrow hair.

Nose twitching at the slight sting, Josie gave a curt bobble of her head in response.

Ten minutes. Ten minutes till the show started, and the mask she wore would be prominently ripped off and replaced with another.

The girl tended to wear a lot of masks, in fact. She herself didn't know which was which---the mask that was the real Josie.

But, did it even matter? In this world of lies she lived, it was best to simply . . . blend in. Blend in with the sea of plastic dollies roaming about, despite you being the only porcelain one with a body and mind so easily shattered---yet not so easily shown.

She stood up, legs not the slightest bit wobbly, and strode off towards the direction of the music, the flashing cameras, the critics eagerly awaiting to judge with papers and pens clutched between their fingers.

Hips swaying, posture flawless---she was ready to go all out. But then again, was she really?

∮∮

ok so ive officially jumped onto the ohshc oc bandwagon, folks-! ✌️ (*｀へ'*)✌️

and ima try and make this story at least somewhat unique---try! ive got my fingers crossed and everything!

wish me luck, maybe? leave me a lil bit of feedback too? 🙈