“Turn, right! Left! Give me desire, now fame! No, infamy! Yes, good! Hold that pose!”

You never imagined you’d be a male model. When your mother, the CEO of Style Magazine, one of the most famous fashion magazines in the world next to big names such as Vogue and Elle, told you that her next front page model has fallen ill and that you were needed, you scoffed, figuring that she was either bluffing or not being serious. But here you were, covered in some kind of oil or serum that made you glow, posed on a beach in Southern France on a giant rock, desperately trying not to fall as bright flashes and clicking noises offended your eyes and ears. As you become hypnotized with the dull sounds of waves lapping on the shore, a crude shout brings you back to reality.

“No, bend the left knee. Yes, good, give me luxury, fame!”

You try to act nonchalant, cool, although you’re not quite sure what he means by “giving fame.” However, your posing works somehow.

“Ah, excellent, hold still. Perfection on camera.”