"Me," roughly translated, probably means: I'm exactly who you're looking for, check out my profile. So I did, dutifully, one after another. Behind the brash "Me" there was rarely an actual model. More often vacation photos with a half-cropped Aperol glass, a snapshot in front of the closet, sunset selfies. Profiles of women who have about as much to do with nude photography as I do with biathlon.
Instagram isn't the only one to blame, though. Also to blame is the rock-solid conviction that two letters make an application and a nice sunset makes a portfolio. Being a model isn't a feeling. It's a profession. Anyone who declares herself a model on the strength of three beach photos insults every woman who can actually do it, who knows in front of the camera how her body reads, who holds her concentration for hours and still ends up looking like it costs her nothing. This is not a qualification you can claim. Either someone brings it with her or she doesn't.
Every click still costs time. Open the profile, scroll through, confirm that nobody here comes anywhere near getting published, back out, next "Me." At some point all I could do was shake my head. Do these ladies seriously believe they have even the faintest chance?
On top of that, a startling number of applications from women between fifty and sixty, from Germany and the rest of the world. Again, not models, and that wasn't a matter of taste but a matter of fact. A few let me know right away that underwear was certainly an option, and to this day I'm still puzzling over whether that was a limitation or a generous concession.
So where are the real models, anyway? There are platforms built for exactly this, where I could cast properly. But the models aren't there anymore. Instead, everyone treats Instagram like the Holy Grail. This app was never a casting tool, and it drifts further from being one all the time.
And then, just when I thought it couldn't sink any lower, came the application that put everything else in the shade. An AI-generated model wanted to come to Fuerteventura with me. A face that doesn't exist at all, flawless, smoothly rendered, applying for a trip to an island that actually does. I waited a beat for the Candid Camera crew to step out from behind the door. They never showed.
Looking for models on Instagram is a flop, in any case. I'd much rather go through recommendations from other models, without the friendly assistance of an algorithm that does nothing but steal my time.