People think modeling is just standing around looking pretty while a fan blows your hair back in slow motion. Cute thought, but no. Let me tell you what really happens behind the scenes in Miami, where modeling shoots are a strange mix of glam, sweat, and “did anyone bring bug spray?”
It usually starts with me convincing myself at 6 a.m. that yes, waking up this early to have someone glue fake lashes to my eyes is totally worth it. Makeup chairs are basically therapy sessions where you sit perfectly still and talk about everything from last night’s tacos to why no one in Miami can merge properly on the highway. By the time the makeup artist is done, I look like a shiny new version of myself, and I’m already regretting wearing black jeans in the Florida heat.
Then there’s wardrobe. Picture three racks of clothes, none of which fit exactly right, and someone cheerfully saying, “Don’t worry, we’ll clip it in the back.” Modeling is 70% pretending you’re comfortable when your dress is held together by six binder clips and your heels are one size too small. My personal talent is acting like I can balance on sand in stilettos without face-planting. Spoiler: I usually can’t.
Once we actually get to shooting, the fun really begins. Photographers in Miami are like caffeinated directors. They’ll yell things like “give me edge!” or “channel stormy ocean energy!” and I’m there thinking, “Does stormy ocean energy mean squinting or pouting? Help.” Half the time I just rotate my poses like a human rotisserie and hope they get the angle they want.
Outdoor shoots are their own circus. Beaches look dreamy on Instagram, but in real life, you’re squinting into the sun, hair sticking to lip gloss, pretending the seaweed tangled around your ankle is part of the look. Palms sway dramatically in the background while I’m silently praying a seagull doesn’t poop mid-shot. And don’t even get me started on rooftop shoots in August. Nothing says glamorous like sweating through satin under a blazing Miami sky while someone shouts, “Hold it, you look amazing!” Sure, but I smell like a gym sock.
The funny part is, no matter how chaotic it gets, there’s always a moment where everything clicks. The light hits just right, my hair finally listens to me, and I feel that little electric buzz of “this is working.” That’s the part I love—the second when the struggle melts away and the photo actually feels alive. It’s like music, except instead of a crowd clapping, you’ve got a photographer muttering, “Yes, yes, YES!” into their camera.
Of course, the glamour fades the second you get home. You peel off the fake lashes, dump a pound of sand out of your shoes, and collapse on the couch looking like a raccoon. But then, weeks later, you see the final photos. Somehow the sweat, the bugs, the binder clips—they all vanish. What’s left is this beautiful illusion that you were born effortlessly cool. And I laugh, because I know the truth is I nearly tripped over a crab during that shot.
So next time you scroll past a Miami modeling picture and think, “wow, she looks so put together,” just know there’s probably a mosquito bite cropped out of the frame. And maybe that’s the magic of it: chaos turned into something that looks easy. I’ll take it.