Not All Models Date Rockstars -- My First Boyfriend Spoke Elvish

The only attention we get from men we don’t already know is almost always from guys that were not getting laid in college, the ones who wouldn’t dare leave the house in leather pants. And that’s just fine with me.

Jul 8, 2014 at 3:00pm | Leave a comment

When you think of Rock Stars, booze, bad mullets, and hot babes are often what first come to mind. From Iman and David Bowie to Kate Moss with Pete Doherty and now Jamie Hince, and a hundred others, the classic model/rock star pair is one of the biggest clichés ever, seemingly propelled together by nature. Gyrating skinny guys sweating in black leather pants while screaming on stage, and tall lanky girls who strut for a living are a destined match that cannot be denied. 
 
Who could forget “November Rain” and seeing a very hot (pre facial enhancements) Axl Rose standing at the chapel, waiting for total babe Stephanie Seymour in that short wedding dress? It was an instruction manual! But before the guys run out to buy leather jackets and grow out greasy hair, I’m here to tell you: I’m a model, and we do not all date rock stars.
 
My best friend and I -- both NYC fashion models -- went to a YSL screening last week at the MOMA when we were approached by an uber trendy fashion journalist.  She was asking a few cheesy lines about, well, cheesy lines. 
 
“Can you models tell me, like, what are some cheesy lines guys use to hit on you?” We stared back blankly, and she repeated the question again slowly, in case, as with most models in New York City, we didn’t speak English. It’s not that we couldn’t think of which corny line to say, but we don’t get hit on, at all. Really.
 
Let me be totally clear -- my best friend is a supermodel that looks like 1992 Claudia Schiffer with even better hair. The only attention we get from men we don’t already know is almost always from guys that were not getting laid in college, the ones who wouldn’t dare leave the house in leather pants. And that’s just fine with me.
 
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 Yep. Nobody got hit on that night…

 
At 21 my first adult serious boyfriend had a charming quality of speaking in an Elvish dialect from “Lord of the Rings.” He honestly wore green spandex and fake elf ears to go LARPing one weekend a month upstate. (If you don’t know what LARPing is, check out YouTube, but try not to judge. It’s mostly just a really involved version of grown men make-believe.) Oddly enough I found his quirky ways charming and was instantly hooked. We didn’t last, but I’ve got nothing against him, or LARPers.
 
One entire summer I had a major crush on a genius computer nerd who constantly ate junk while pounding the keyboards. My first time seeing his apartment revealed every square inch covered in comic books. He wooed me with dates to Comic-Con and Star Wars premieres. Okay, his passions weren’t exactly badass, but to me he might as well have been Mick Jagger in the ’60s. 
 
Maybe I’m a narcissist but I confess I’d rather be the better-looking one in the relationship. Do I want to share my hair straightener with an emo rocker boyfriend?  Nah, I’m good. I would date Louis CK over Jared Leto and his Pantene-approved locks any day. Because you know what’s the ultimate panty dropper? A drop dead sense of humor.
 
Sorry but it’s a deal breaker if my boyfriend can fit into my pants. I once went out with a hipster guy who, in the morning when I complained I didn’t have anything comfortable to wear at his place, offered me his jeans. When I slipped them on, they were somehow too tight around the butt. I started crying.  
How hard can it be to find a man that can eat a plate of non-vegan chicken wings, and chug a beer with me while watching football?
 
My problem is that the younger Louis CK comedians or funny guys of the NYC club world often do not approach fashion models. Hey you clever, funny, non-rocker guys –- bring on those cheesy pick up lines.  Just please, please don't fit in my leather pants.