Further mischief

PARIS, France – Paris is definitely a city for play. Unfortunately, we were there for a bit of work. Three of our party (i.e. Juan, my wife Yvonne and I) happen to belong to a little militant outfit of fashion misfits called HG. We got together in places like Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf three years ago and spent a good deal of our time talking about how boring most of the stuff being put out in fashion magazines before finally deciding to see if we could do any better. YStyle editor Celine Lopez gave us our start (God bless her for having such balls) and since then we’ve worked for about everyone. Before leaving for Paris, Juan and I cooked up the idea of doing a shoot in that beautiful city. How we managed to convince the usually levelheaded but always-effervescent ladies at Preview to commission the shoot, we’ll never know. (Not for our looks, that’s for sure: Juan looks like a cross between a terrorist and Sebastian Bach and I’m an obese, acne-ridden almost 30-year-old. Must be our charm?) Catch was, it had to be a swimsuit editorial. It was winter in Paris.

Being the sadists we are, we decided to do it the only way we knew how…coax some unfortunate girl to pose in nothing but bathing suits in the most unlikely of places. We had chosen spots like inside one of the carriages in the Metro, the Arc de Triomphe, and the Palais de Challoit that has a grand view of the Eiffel Tower. (If memory serves me correct, I recall that Adolph Hitler was photographed there, gloating perhaps on how small that structure seemed compared to his own ego.) This – to state the obvious – was a problem.

Despite Joanna from Preview’s best efforts, no one was up to play the willing victim. In our desperation, Juan and I called a model we knew in Denmark to fly over. After some haggling and frantic phone calls, she decided she wanted to stay home for Christmas than spend it with us working half-naked in below-zero weather. Despite our final offer to leave Gino (our friend and companion on this trip) as a pet for an indefinite period of time, she bizarrely said no. (To list a few of Gino’s talents: he can cook; he can make you laugh without saying a word; and he sometimes paints. I don’t even have to add that women say he’s ace in bed for anyone to conclude that that’s a great deal.)

Since we had a ladies‘ man in our corner, we decided to put Gino’s talents to work. The three of us would keep our eyes peeled (I’ve always wanted to use that phrase) and whenever we spotted a possible model we would tell Gino to go over and talk her into it. Needless to say, the French seemed immune to Gino’s charms. It didn’t help that he started each pickup line by addressing each one as "monsieur." After three days, the only one that showed any interest was a middle-aged male waiter working in a café near Notre Dame. He would massage Gino’s back every time he passed by, trying to make conversation with us despite the fact that he barely spoke English. (Gino would sometimes reciprocate by brushing his hand against the guy’s back.) We were losing hope.

Yvonne though had an idea. She suggested we approach strangers with interesting faces and ask them to hold up the items. We would hang out in the locations we had already chosen and wait for that right face to appear. Gino then would somehow convince them to hold up the Loungeri Lux pieces we brought from Manila. After she detailed her plan, we all agreed it was nuts. We had to do it.

Guess what? Despite the bemused expressions, nervous laughter and indignant stares we received initially, we were able to complete most of the spread in one afternoon. The trick was to approach our target and ask if they would agree to have our picture taken with them. If they agreed, Gino would hold up the swimsuit and after the first shot give it to our unsuspecting model. He would then quickly hop off-frame for Juan to take the shot.

With each shot, we grew bolder and more audacious. Then Juan had another crazy idea: we would visit Venus de Milo in the Louvre and do something there. We were all tired of asking people to make fools of themselves so we decided to do something truly foolish ourselves. Gino and I would stand on opposite sides of the famous sculpture. Juan would be at the front and Yvonne the lookout. With one of the swimsuits in hand, I would throw it across to Gino. In mid-air, Juan would capture the shot.

Alas (and I shed a tear when I think back at it) we were late and the museum was closed for the holidays. We would not get the shot. Bummed, we retreated to the Hotel Gavarni to tell its manager Xavier about our day. He was shocked speechless. In fact, he struggled to put into words at how aghast he was. We reasoned with him that we thought that Parisians are probably used to such stunts. Shaking his head, he told us that we were lucky we didn’t get into trouble.

We went out for dinner. I sent a text message to Vince of Preview that we were done. I didn’t elaborate. I began to think if we were really out-of-line. It felt good though – as if we were doing the photographic equivalent of Andre Breton pulling out a gun and shooting randomly into a crowd. Or like when one of the guys in the MTV show Jackass sticking a condom with a toy car up his a**. Then, at that moment, Gino tried calling the waitress. "Monsieur!"

With a smirk, I decided it was all worth it.

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The editorial will appear in the April issue of Preview.