After Leaving Ultra Orthodox Judaism, I Was a Plus Size Model in New York City and Found Myself.
I Learned to Love My Body.
As a young Orthodox Jew, I constantly fantasized about living a different life. I was raised totally separate from the world and desperate to be apart of it. Leaving my community seemed like a monumental, impossible endeavor.
While I didn’t have much access to culture like television or films, I did read magazines at the nail salons. I became familiar with celebrities and models. I imagined that the outside world was basically what I had seen in these publications and I yearned for it. I formulated a belief that entering the entertainment industry was a sure path to freedom, self expression and happiness. I’m not sure what compels others to model but I was driven by the hope of a shiny and new identity.
I found the courage to send in photos to a number of New York City plus size modeling agencies. On my 24th birthday, I got a contract with a large agency. I was excited, felt validated and hoped I could shake off my past and step into a new life. But the Orthodox world and the modeling world are like different universes.
The Orthodox community holds standards of female modesty as a priority. Girls and women are not allowed to wear pants. Skirts must cover the knees. Shirts must cover elbows and collarbones. After graduating high school, women are expected to begin dating for marriage. Physical touch is strictly prohibited between men and women until they wed. I found these rules restrictive and oppressive of my femininity and sexuality.
I received many implicit and explicit messages about my body growing up. Being thin was an important aspect in finding a marriage partner. Having a family was a religious obligation and the ultimate goal of womanhood. I felt disempowered by these expectations.
Many of my childhood schoolmates were small and petite which made me self conscious about my appearance. I had hips and curves. My body was scrutinized by family with comments like “you’ll never find a husband if you don’t lose weight.” A few of the neighborhood boys once referred me to as ‘The Linebacker.’ Through adolescence, I grew more self conscious and became obsessed with the size and shape of my body. I constantly wished to be smaller.
As an autonomous adult, my body turned my dream of modeling into a reality. After shooting my first set of photos for my portfolio, my agent was tasked with choosing the finals to show potential clients. As she sifted through my work she looked at me and said “you have a killer body.” I was shocked. Me? Killer body? I began to look at myself with new eyes and my self image began to shift positively.
Despite this new awareness of myself, I was still self conscious and it showed in my photos. I was uncomfortable posing. Selling sexy was at odds with the obligations of Jewish modesty that had been drilled into my psyche growing up.
I realized I left the community physically but hadn’t quite cut ties with them. I was afraid of potentially being seen by my community in advertisements or on billboards. I hadn’t stepped out as anti-religious to my community or family and I wasn’t prepared for any backlash. Modeling required a lot of empowerment that I hadn’t found yet.
I was struggling with these profound fears, insecurities and moments of joy while trying to build my portfolio and find work. While some of my peers nabbed jobs left and right, I showed my work on casting calls and received some unenthusiastic feedback. When I finally booked my first job, I was ecstatic. Ironically, the job was for a talk show segment modeling skirts.
When I got to the job anxiety crept in. Cognitive dissonance, maybe. The producers brought me to wardrobe and makeup. I sat in the makeup chair weighed down with panic. What if my community sees me after this segment airs?
The producers did a few practice runs of the segment. I was so anxious I could barely smile. When they called me forward to showcase what I was wearing, my contorted face elicited some strange looks from the camera operators and producers. I was embarrassed. I reassured myself that I had been through a lot and I was merely trying my best. I decided to stick it out and not quit. I made it through the job and that was the last and only job I booked.
Despite my inner turmoil reconciling my past and present, I knew modeling was a gift to explore myself and create art. I continued to build my portfolio and set up another private shoot. While being photographed, I suddenly felt compelled to experiment with a few nude shots. I brought this request to my photographer and he agreed.
I undressed, shocked at my own desire and bravery. My creativity and free spirit soared. The photos came out somewhat awkward, but shooting photos in the nude was a turning point for me. I rebelled against my repressive background and created art on my own terms. I had accepted myself fully.
As I’ve grown more, I look back on the nude shoot with some discernment. While I felt free in the moment, I didn’t know the photographer. He was vetted by my agency and so I had some trust in him. I shot photos in the nude because I was desperate to be seen and take up space. Perhaps what I was truly missing was trusting, intimate and consensual relationships in which I could experience freedom and connection. Or perhaps, I just wanted to celebrate myself. Either way, my experiences helped me understand that my sexuality and boundaries are my birthright.
Ultimately, my career as a working model didn’t pan out. Modeling was a stark introduction to the outside world and I simply wasn’t ready for the business. I viewed modeling as a creative outlet and a stance against the containment of female sexuality. While I didn’t garner any widespread recognition, I succeed on my own terms and feel pride in what I accomplished: self love, personal choice and body positivity.
