Glam slam

In which several hundred teenage model wanna-bes are informed that they do not have 'the Look'

Urban Eye by Michelle Chihara

Jamie Ament, a dark and full-lipped former model from Orlando, is working the crowd. He cups his hands and gamely shouts "How are you all doing tonight?" over the heads of several hundred mostly attractive, mostly teenage people milling around a cavernous conference room.

They mostly ignore him. Wanna-be models, it seems, don't expect to have to fake peppiness.

Ament represents Pro Scout, a model-search organization holding open auditions here at the Cambridge Hyatt. Scores of teenage girls unbutton their winter jackets and size each other up -- lots of tight-fitting T-shirts, butterfly barrettes, and heavy lip liner -- while they wait to be discovered. A few working moms in pullover fleece tops hold hands with their daughters. One or two guys give quiet reassurance to nervous girlfriends or fiancées, but most of the guys here have prominent cheekbones and earrings in both ears and are trying to look nonchalant. They size each other up, too, but from farther away. No one here at the Hyatt is very old, maybe because everyone noticed that although the Pro Scout people say they're "looking for all types," they also say on their Web site that most "high fashion" models are between 13 and 21.

About 50 of these hopefuls will make the Pro Scout cut. To be exact, 52: on the basis of an "interview" that consists of a head-to-toe glance by Jamie and lasts, on average, two seconds, each candidate who passes muster will be handed a playing card. The rest will be thanked politely and asked to leave.

Jamie, who makes these judgment calls while seated at a card table at the front of the conference room, says that his decisions have nothing to do with chance. He and Jessica, his partner, are "seasoned modeling professionals" (Jamie himself was discovered two years ago by Pro Scout). This is not about "pretty," he says to those of us in the crowd. If we are not chosen, Jamie assures us, it does not mean that we are not attractive. It's just that we don't have "the Look."

"Height, bone structure, and clothing size are crucial," he says. "Petites are taller than you think."

The line moves quickly. Groups of friends laugh halfheartedly as they move out the door. In a fitted black leather jacket, Roger Clark waits his turn and shows me his portfolio. He is slight in person and striking on film. The cheekbones, he says, come from his Cherokee grandmother (his other ancestors were African). Last year, Pro Scout gave him a card. The card, it turned out, allowed him to pay $300 to attend a weekend-long "invitational" with about a thousand other hopefuls.

For the invitational, Pro Scout flies in real-life agents from a handful of "power agencies." Among these, Pro Scout execs list Ford, Elite, and Wilhelmina. It also lists the Boston agency Maggie Inc., which is news to the agency's president, Maggie Trichon. ("It goes against what I believe in in this industry," she says, "that somebody should have to pay money to be seen by scouts.")

Still, at last year's invitational, a number of agents did look at Clark. He got four callbacks, but no contract. Since then he has signed with an agency in Atlanta and won a local Boston Trading Company contest. He's back because he wants more exposure. Today, he has a "good feeling."

Clark does not get a card.

Among the construction workers, Haitian immigrants, and business majors that I speak with, no one is here out of a deep-seated desire to be paid for wearing slinky outfits. Most people say they're interested in modeling for the "travel opportu-nities." A handful of law students are here on a study break. And, of course, no one comes to a Pro Scout cattle call on his or her own initiative: everyone in my informal poll has been urged, begged, cajoled, or at least told by a number of friends that he or she "really should be a model."

Robin Deal, vice president of Pro Scout, later tells me that Boston is rife with potential models. "I have to tell you, those two regions [Seattle and the Northeast] are standouts for us. We find the people a little more upscale; really, they're better educated, more fashion-savvy." Still, Pro Scout comes through Boston only once a year. Last year they went to Texas four times. ("It's a big state, with a lot of beautiful people," Deal says.)

Or maybe Texas just has more people looking to "travel."

I like to travel, and my editor urged me to go to the Pro Scout event, so I, too, find myself in front of Jamie's table. My two seconds go like this: I am the very last person in line. Jamie is filing papers. I say, "Excuse me." Jessica looks up, and her eyebrows arch with a certain . . . condescension? vague interest? deep sympathy? I'll never know. Jamie takes my form, and before even looking up slashes a red line through my name, barks out my height, and smiles.

"Thanks," he says, glancing over my shoulder to make sure I'm the last one, "but we need you taller."