Elle

My first big shoot organised by Click in 1983 was in St Barts. That February I flew there with the other models and the crew; we were staying at the posh PLM Hotel, shooting beauty for Glamour magazine.

When Click originally asked me to go, I thought I wouldn’t be able to because I couldn’t afford the airfare. I asked the agency, ‘How much is it going to cost me to go?’ They were puzzled and asked me what I meant. I said, ‘Well, I don’t have much money in the bank.’ Yep. I thought I had to pay to go on the shoot. I hadn’t realised the magazine would cover the cost. When they told me that they would take care of it, I thought, great! Even so, I assumed Glamour would cover just the plane ticket and the hotel room. When I got to the PLM Hotel, I took one look at the room service menu and saw that a hamburger was twenty dollars. I thought, ‘Jeez, I can’t afford twenty bucks!’ So the first day I was there, I didn’t eat. The fashion editor probably thought I had some eating disorder. Having noticed I wasn’t eating, she asked me why. I explained that I couldn’t afford the food at the hotel.

Perplexed, she said to me. ‘But Elle, we pick up the tab.’

I was gobsmacked. Straight away, I ordered a huge chocolate mousse. When it arrived, she looked at me like I was a crazy girl as I wolfed it down. I’d never had a dessert like that. I vowed to myself there and then that I would never again experience the fear of not being able to look after myself; the fear of not having enough money. It made me even more determined to become excellent at my work and financially independent.

Being in St Barts was wonderful. The sun was shining, the beaches were covered in powdery white sand and the water was crystal clear, sparkling in the blazing hot sun. It was freezing back in New York. Whitney Houston was one of the models on the shoot. This was before she was a famous singer. Patricia Van Ryckeghem was the other model I would be working with.

I was up at dawn having my hair and make-up done for the shoot at the swimming pool.

‘Look into the camera,’ the photographer snapped.

‘I’m trying. Truly. I really am trying,’ I pleaded.

‘You’re not trying hard enough.’

‘Can you please explain to me what you need so I can do it better?’ I glared.

The photographer sighed. ‘Well, you should know! Can you at least look happy? Not so angry.’ He turned and shouted to the crew, ‘How can I shoot beauty with a girl who has brown eyes? And, on top of it, they’re small. Can I have somebody I can really work with? This girl won’t even look into the camera.’

I felt so humiliated and upset that I couldn’t do what he wanted, especially when I didn’t know what I was doing wrong. I was stressed and self-conscious as I tried to hold back the tears—and indignant, looking angrily into the lens, extremely uncomfortable. When the photographer held the camera close to my face, it made me even more nervous. I was still learning facial expressions but what I thought was an assertive look was actually an intense stare.

Often my desire to look confident came across as fierce or angry. I wanted to be taken seriously but my face showed a different story. My energy exuded tension. The photographer was capturing feelings I wanted to hide.

He found me difficult to photograph and didn’t hesitate to make his views very clear. I was mortified but I could have learned right there and then not to take things personally. This was business and I had to be detached and professional if I was going to become excellent at my work, the way I was striving to be.

By the evening, I was exhausted and collapsed into bed. I was just drifting off to sleep when the bedside phone rang. It was Patricia calling me from the bar downstairs. I heard music in the background as she excitedly whispered, ‘Billy’s in the bar!’

‘Billy? Billy Who?’ I asked.

‘Billy Joel!’ she gushed. ‘Theee Billy Joel! He’s playing the piano. Come quick!’

I leaped out of bed and hastily got dressed, grabbing my red baseball shirt that had ‘All Australian Girl’ emblazoned on it; a play on the ‘All American Boy’ theme that was popular at the time. I hoped I might catch Billy’s eye if I wore something unusual. The top was red. He was going to notice me no matter what! I wanted to stand out so he could see that I was from a land down under, a proud Australian far from home.

In the bar, the crew were hanging out and drinking cocktails. Christie Brinkley was there. She too was staying at the hotel, shooting promotion for her Outdoor Beauty and Fitness Book. She was an icon. I’d heard a lot about her while I was in New York. She had her annual swimsuit calendars, posters, and her book was coming out soon. I admired how she had evolved her business from modelling. She seemed so in command of her career and, looking back, I guess you could say she was the closest thing to being a role model for me (excuse the pun). She was the first woman who showed me that modelling could mean more than just being on the pages of a fashion magazine. I remember when I saw her I thought to myself, wow, she’s really got it together. I can still recall what she was wearing—a miniskirt and cowboy boots. She looked like a star. She was an inspiration for me.

Whitney was also at the bar with Patricia. I joined them and we listened to Billy sing. I was in awe. I was listening to a star play the piano. In the flesh. Live. I’d grown up listening to Billy Joel singing hit after hit when his songs came on the radio. I knew all their lyrics and I couldn’t believe I was actually seeing him and hearing him play all those songs. It was difficult to take in the fact that he was right there in front of me; surreal.

By the end of the night, most of the crew had drifted away. Christie, Whitney and I sat around the piano and sang along while Billy played. It was a pinch-myself moment; like a scene out of a movie, when I recall it. Billy playing and singing, having a few late-night drinks. All I could think was, oh god, I can’t believe this is happening.

Turned out, it wasn’t the only surreal evening. Billy was there on holiday for a week and each night we all got together, had dinner at one of the restaurants and hung out afterwards. One evening, when Billy and I were on our own, he played a cassette for me. He explained it was Whitney Houston singing. It was one of her demo tapes. He said, ‘This kid’s going to be a star!’ He was right, of course: shortly afterwards, Whitney’s singing talent catapulted her to fame.

During that Glamour shoot, I remember how I just wanted to be finished so I could hang out with Billy. I loved being around him—he was mature, interesting, funny, charming and a wonderful storyteller. I found that if somebody successful acknowledged me, the little girl inside me wanted that validation. I felt drawn to Billy. I could relax and be myself around him and he treated me with respect.

The photographer, on the other hand, continued telling me I was difficult to photograph. All I kept thinking was, well, why did you ask me to come? You knew what I looked like.

‘Listen,’ I eventually said to him. ‘Clearly I’m not adding any value here because, as you yourself said, beauty is not my thing and you’re finding it challenging to photograph me. So I hope you don’t mind but I think I’ll get a lift home with Billy tomorrow.’

Billy had said he was leaving a day before the shoot finished and he’d offered me a lift back to New York. I didn’t want to stay in St Barts, and the prospect of flying in a private plane was pretty tempting—an adventure.

‘What do you mean you’re going to leave?’ the photographer demanded incredulously.

I replied bravely, ‘Well, I get up every day at 4 a.m. to be ready for the shoot and most days you don’t even use me. I just think it’s better that I go home.’

He was furious. ‘You can’t do that!’

Next day, I got on the plane and left.

My ballsy Australian attitude had reared up in full flight and I had let my emotions get the better of me. When I arrived back in New York, Bethann said to me, ‘Elle, I don’t teach my girls to behave like that.’

‘Like what?’ I gasped.

Her calm, deep look stopped me in my tracks. In an effort to defend myself, I protested, ‘Bethann, they were so horrible to me. I just wanted to leave and come home.’

She sat me down on the sofa and, with concern in her voice, gently told me, ‘Look, if you accept a ride with somebody, they are obviously going to think there’s something more to it. So if you don’t want there to be something more to it then just don’t open yourself up to that possibility. Billy is going to think you want to be with him. And if you don’t want to be with him then you’ve given him the wrong impression. Plus, you left everybody at work when they were counting on you, and you didn’t adhere to the rules of the business. You’re supposed to go to the shoot with your crew and come back with your crew. You’re part of a team. Elle, you made your own rules. Misguided rules.’

Sadly but firmly, she continued, ‘You need to find your own way now. It’s time for you to go out on your own, Elle. You’ll have to find other living arrangements.’

That was the moment I saw my lesson clearly.

I saw that I had let my personal whims override my professionalism. I saw that I’d unnecessarily taken the photographer’s attitude personally.

I saw that I hadn’t fulfilled my work commitments.

I saw that I had let down the magazine, not to mention the photographer and the other models.

I saw that I had misrepresented Click, who’d invested their trust in me. I hadn’t valued that trust.

I saw that I had run away from what I felt was an uncomfortable situation simply because I lacked the confidence and willingness to deliver what the photographer needed.

It was painfully obvious that I had let Bethann down.

But worst of all . . . I saw that I had let myself down and I had nobody to blame but myself.

That could have been a long list of mistakes, had I refused to learn from them. But they were not mistakes because I did learn. That was the day I vowed I’d never sabotage myself again by behaving in such an unprofessional manner.

It was a powerful lesson for me in work ethic and valuing others as part of a team. It grounded in me the realisation that it was a privilege to represent a magazine, an opportunity deserving my respect.

I learned that sometimes it’s wise to do the things that, on the surface you don’t necessarily like, but whether you like them or not, may well have value and be worthwhile.

I learned that I can’t just get up on an impulse and leave people in the lurch, people who are depending on me to do a job. There will be ramifications.

I learned to uphold my own personal values.

It was a timeless lesson to be discreet in my private life.