[Student Profile]
[Prompt & Essay]
The tape measure waited strung around my doorknob, living for the moments I would cinch it around my waist just to sneeringly spit back a number I didn't want. Having been signed by a local modeling agency when I was a tall and skinny twelve-year-old, the daunting task of keeping my waist under 26 inches became more difficult when entering my teenage years.
I hadn't eaten sugar for months, despite my love for sweets, and I worked out almost every day. On the day of my agency's annual modeling workshop, I woke up determined to eat and drink nothing until the event ended at 5 pm. After arriving at the studio and then strutting back and forth for two hours, the agents lined us up in a single file. I fell into the rear quarter of the line and listened intently as those in front of me had their waists measured. "25… 24… 25 ½ … 23… 23…" When I stepped up onto the platform, "27 ½ inches" rang out. The only sound in the studio was the scribble of a pen immortalizing my failure.
After being dismissed, I hurried out of the building to sit in my car, and clumsily felt around the glove compartment for the snack I packed for myself. As the other models were leaving, I was in plain view eating cookie dough out of a plastic bag. After months of bland, tasteless food, I ate ravenously. A feeling of ecstasy began in my taste buds and spread throughout my body. At that moment, I was bursting with a joy that I had not experienced in the past six months. I did not feel ashamed but triumphant in my choice to unapologetically enjoy myself.
I've always had the mindset that if I work at something diligently, I can accomplish it. Driven by the fear of disappointing others, I would dedicate myself to activities that made those around me happy. After I became a model, I would work tirelessly to do what pleased my agents, whether that was shrinking my waist, losing arm fat, or whitening my teeth. It was exhausting. I didn't have the desire to starve myself to get a 23-inch waist or to spend every waking moment working out. I no longer cared to be seen as perfect by the agents or anyone else. I wanted to do activities and have experiences that made me happy, not worrying about what others might think.
Later that week, I called the agency and told them my decision to stop being represented. I finally felt free. I decided to embrace the nerdy side of myself and take challenging classes without the fear that my friends would think I was weird. I had more time to explore my passions and found business to be something I loved. In tenth grade, I joined DECA, my school's business club, and was elected president my junior and senior years. It was incredible, but it seemed as if people liked me for who I was. Working out no longer felt like a chore, and I began to find joy in exercise. I joined [name], my local gym, and for almost two years and counting, take classes at least three times a week. This past summer, I joined the team as a studio tech to aid others in their personal fitness journeys. I even found a much more positive way to use my height: playing middle hitter on my high school varsity volleyball team.
I've learned to be happy with my body, but more importantly, to not waste my time and energy trying to please others. The tape measure now lies mute in my mother's sewing kit, limp and powerless. I can now focus on and enjoy my real interests instead of torturing myself over what others might think of me.