By Crystal Renn
AT FOURTEEN, i used to be a typical JUNIOR highschool scholar IN CLINTON, MISSISSIPPI, whilst A MODELING SCOUT instructed ME: you'll BE A twiglet . . . yet YOU’LL need to LOSE a bit WEIGHT.
FOR GLAMOUR, status, AND get away, I misplaced SEVENTY kilos.
This is a photograph of me at SIXTEEN, whilst I signed a huge modeling agreement, moved to ny urban, and began touring around the globe.
It is usually while I constructed a ferocious case of anorexia and workout bulimia.
Until i made a decision adequate was once enough—I desired to reside.
And so I ate. And ate.
Offering a behind-the-scenes peek into the modeling undefined, in addition to a trenchant examine our weight-obsessed tradition, Hungry is an inspiring and cautionary story that would resonate with somebody who has battled society’s small-minded definitions of good looks.
This is me NOW, the prime plus-size version in the US.
Read or Download Hungry: A Young Model's Story of Appetite, Ambition, and the Ultimate Embrace of Curves PDF
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Additional resources for Hungry: A Young Model's Story of Appetite, Ambition, and the Ultimate Embrace of Curves
Did she remember me at all? And now the hint of a new question: Did Lana ever wish she had three daughters instead of two? Mom kept me too busy to dwell on such questions. Grandma was gone, but Mom was determined to follow her educational and physical development program for me. I had to keep taking piano, and Mom continued to search out athletic pursuits that might engage me. She never forgot that I’d lagged behind my peers in muscular development as a baby, and she wanted to make sure my coordination continued to improve.
It’s not my story. Her demons were different from mine. My story is this: Lana dropped me off at her mother’s when I was three months old. I was a preemie, and tiny. No one knew who my father was. I was quite sick with a bronchial infection. I couldn’t turn over. My head was totally flat in the back from spending all my time lying in a crib, staring up. I had major intestinal problems. My motor skills were terrible. “You were like a little vegetable,” Mom says now. Lana had told Mom she was going away for a few days, but weeks passed and she didn’t come back.
Once again, my existential anxiety was rearing its head. Mom finally stopped driving by the cemetery. She’d drive ten minutes out of her way to get back from ballet because she’d run out of metaphysical answers for me! Still, I kept on asking questions. Then and now, whether I’m struggling with epistemology or a decision to buy a pair of Ann Demeulemeester boots, I’m obsessive and single-minded. Mom and Grandma respected my questions about the nature of being. They were churchgoers with a strong faith in God.