Standing up straight

One of my growing experiences involved an actor who had several published works, including several plays. This fellow invited me to read his published play at one of those midnight poetry houses. I showed up at 11:30pm, ready to read, in my little "Poetry House" outfit, which consisted of chunky black boots, a pencil skirt and a cute top. All black.

I sat in the back of the blacklit bar, listening to a million, if not more of these exaggerated poems ... waiting patiently – more bored than anything – for our chance to get up and do the feature section. When we finally get up to do the reading, he does most of the reading, while I sit to his left like arm candy, yawning occasionally. I made $15 during the pass-around. Hell yeah.

I got an email from him the next day, telling me I did a good job, but suggesting some coaching. I lit up, enthusiastically responding, “I’d love acting coaching, who do you suggest?” He apologizes for being unclear, saying, “No, your acting was great; I'm talking about ditching the chunky boots, standing/sitting up straight and leading with your breasts if you have to." I never responded because I thought it was the most sexist, stupidest thing I’d ever heard.

Here's the thing. Being 5'10", posture ... to me ... is about your surroundings. If I want to be noticed, I stand straight. That way, my head sticks out well above the crowd, especially in heels. However, if I want to mix in with the surroundings, I try to keep at eye level with everyone. It’s all about looking low maintenance. It has nothing to do with insecurities about my body – as we all know, I'd be thrilled to walk upright through Times Square naked! But, to me, there’s a time and a place to say “Look at me!” and it’s not while sitting in the back of a low class, extremely casual bar. Besides, there’s enough pretension in a poetry reading, without me sitting Hot Lips Houlihan straight and paying attention to every elegiac sound effect emanating from the amateur poet’s lips.

Not to mention the fact that inevitably, when I stand and sit with really great posture, I get hit on. And as much as I like a fellow who can move his lips and tongue, I’m just not interested in bringing a poet to bed with me. There is such a thing as too much foreplay.

And that brings me to events of late. I recently met a fashion photographer with whom I’d never shot. We met and dined at a dingy pizza place in the suburbs.

I consider myself a people-reader and I immediately read "arrogant." Arrogant men are easy to handle - all you do is withhold information about yourself and what you think about what they are saying. Eventually, they tend to get conceited enough to stick a foot in their mouth and you are home free. Unfortunately, I’d opted for a thin, gauzy white sweater and it was extremely cold in the pizza place. Not ideal for withholding, if you know what I mean.

So the conversation commenced, and as with most extremely arrogant people, the more you withhold, the deeper they push. He critiqued my modeling portfolio, with an attempt to convince me I should throw away every photo because the point of focus wasn’t my eyes. My gorgeous, expressive eyes. I just nodded like a marionette. He talked endlessly about the really important and influential photography gigs he had with which he was going to get me involved. I opened and closed my mouth silently, like a fish - not emotionless, but more like, “Oh, another opinion!” or “Oh, another job!”

Anyways, he couldn’t break me … and he kept trying to look at my nipples. So I hunched. I leaned on the table. I folded my arms casually across my chest. The bill came and he eyed me. I gave him a stupid girl “what?” look and pulled out my nail file – no way I’m going Dutch on dinner with an ass.

Then he pulls out the big guns, "Sit up straight".

"Why?" I said, casually setting the trap.

"Be proud of them,” he says, gesturing to my boobies.

"I am proud of them, but I don't want guys starring at me," I say, with a miniature snarl.

"If you stick them out, people won't look at them."

"Oh really?" I say, daring him to say what he'll say next...

"Have I tried to look at them?"

"Uh, yeeees." I say, grabbing my purse and ending yet another fabulous night.

Well, at least the pizza was good.

Ann Marie Weinert is a Chicago based fashion and pin-up model, as well as Internet radio host for http://annmarieandkaty.com. More of her work can be seen at http://annmarieweinert.com.