Emily extends a hand in introduction to the Crazytown Community.
By Emily Glick (Actress/Hand model)
Let's just get this out in the open so we can all start off on the right foot: I'm a hand model. I don't work hard for what I do, and I make a disgusting amount of money at it. I've received sycophantic praise for the way I hold a plate of lunchmeat; I've been massaged after a few minutes of pretend-slicing pizza; and I've been fed such incredible gourmet craft services food that I'm beyond thankful they only want to photograph my hands.
What has all this taught me? That clearly less effort is better. We're always taught to work hard - that after years of slaving away, you will reap the benefits of your labor. Ok, so I've slaved away at this theatre thing - college, lessons, classes, auditions, tears, sweat, pain. I get shows sometimes. People say nice things sometimes. But compared to hand modeling, well, I'm beginning to think that effort is inversely related to success.
George "preparing" to be a hand model
A typical theatre audition involves years of preparation: gym, lessons, warm ups, hair colors, photographs, new hair colors, new photographs. You perform your piece once, yearn for small talk, and smile graciously when you hear "thank you," pretending like you have somewhere more important to be.
A typical hand model audition usually starts with a quick slather of my favorite lotion (straight-up Vaseline in a tub), a room of 10 people who do nothing but compliment you and touch your hands (actual human contact - can you imagine?!), and then a phone call telling you you've booked the job.
Again, what does this teach us? Do we get agents when we submit, schmooze, audition, and perform? No. Do we do literally nothing and then get propositioned by agents who represent household names? Yes!
My advice to all of you hardworking people out there is to Just. Stop. Trying. Our culture rewards the idle. We provide each other a car service to get you to a shoot location. We pay each other a typical month's wages in order to use a quarter of your thumb in a photograph. And we feed each other organic omelets with fresh strawberries in the dead of winter.
Yes, I am living the New American Dream. My poor immigrant ancestors. They lived in tenements and broke their backs trying to feed their children, all in the name of the Old American Dream. If only they knew their progeny could feed herself with a job where she barely has to move a muscle, they'd be proud, right? Isn't that what everyone wants for the future? A society where hard work is laughable, but idleness is lauded. I'm so glad I can do my part.