I’m definitely not the type of girl a person would think of as wanting to be in Playboy. I’m far from the “physical ideal” that the magazine espouses, and my vast range of interests has never included posing nude. One of these interests, however, is going outside of my comfort zone, equal parts just to see what will happen and to get a good story in the process.
During a recent Technician meeting, the writers were running out of ideas when it was brought up that Playboy was coming to N.C. State to find girls for their “Girls of the ACC” spread, which will be out in October. Being the flippant smart-mouth that I tend to be, I suggested that we send someone to go try out and later write about the experience.
Guess who got that plum assignment? (Hint: you’re reading it now.)
I initially wondered if we’d be expected to know about any of Playboy’s illustrious history as a purveyor of aspirational spank fodder. Like any actress worth her method, I researched and rehearsed. I looked up the history of the magazine, brushed up on learning the names of some of the most well-known centerfolds and girlfriends, and squeezed in watching a couple episodes of “The Girls Next Door.” I learned that Gloria Steinem, leader of the 1970s wave of feminism, took a job as a Bunny at the New York Playboy Club for a journalism assignment. Clearly, I was in good company.
Merely getting an appointment made resembled nothing so much as a cloak-and-dagger intrigue. Those interested were asked to send an email to an address on Playboy’s “Girls of the ACC” Web site. After sending an email Friday night, I got an email Saturday morning requesting that I text my name and number to the respondent. I did so, and then was left a message inquiring as to whether I attended N.C. State or UNC. More texts were then volleyed back and forth, until I finally received an e-mail confirmation of my appointment date, time and location the night before I went in.
The morning of my appointment, I made myself gorgeous (pluck, style, gloss) and drove to the photography location. It was in a hotel, situated atop a winding, uphill road. If I was more prone to panic, this is where I would have chickened out and turned around. Instead, I calmly pulled into the parking lot and walked right in.
Once at the specified suite, I knocked twice on the door, and was ushered in by the photographer. On seeing a black-and-white Playboy banner hung up on the wall and the photographer’s metallic gothic-script Playboy logo shirt, I knew that I was in the right place. There was one other girl sitting on the couch, whom I happened to recognize, and we chatted while filling out release paperwork. The photographer also took that time to check my driver’s license and school ID to make sure that I was of age. The photographer then told us about his schedule, saying that he was usually at locations for about a week rather than two days. He also expressed concerns about lining up models at some schools, specifically mentioning Duke. After a concern was raised, the photographer then reassured us that our school probably wouldn’t discipline us for auditioning, as had happened at Baylor University, a Christian school, in 2006. But, as he pointed out, we were the ones who would have to deal with it after all is said and done.
We were told how things would happen. The photography area was set up in the bedroom, and those of us waiting would wait out in the open suite. Through the double doors of the bedroom, I could see black boxes of photography equipment on the bed, and white light umbrellas positioned in front of the sunlit windows. Since these would be merely test shots, there was no sign of the arsenal of stylists and technicians needed to produce a full-blown shoot.
Two other girls then came in, one being there for the call, the other being the requisite moral support. The girl who was filling out paperwork kept asking me what I had put down for my measurements. Even when I answered her, I couldn’t help feeling like I was giving away answers to a test for which she herself should have studied.
Waiting for my turn to be photographed, I perused some of the recent Playboys laid out on the coffee table near me. Despite having read various issues of Maxim prior to this experience, I had never actually read a Playboy. I was about to learn the answer to biggest question of Playboy. Can a person actually claim to read Playboy “just for the articles?” The issue which I had picked up contained an in-depth interview with Hollywood’s favorite everyman Seth Rogen and a short story by 1980s literary brat-packer Jay McInerney. This continues a storied tradition of Playboy publishing notable writers within its magazine, such as Ian Fleming and Kurt Vonnegut. So, in answer to the question, it is credible, but be prepared to defend that statement amongst the peers who prefer the magazine’s T&A.
When the photographer was ready for me, I changed into my bikini and we went into the bedroom. The first thing I had to do was be photographed head-on holding a sign spelling out my name and school. I inquired as to whether I needed to smile, and the photographer answered by giving some good words of advice, straight from his mother: “When in doubt, always smile.” After he snapped some of me head-on, I was asked to turn to the side. Snap, snap, and I turned my back to him for the final shots. I was then asked if I’d be willing to pose topless, and it was perfectly fine that I was not willing. It was a very comfortable environment, and I did not feel pressured to do so.
After one more shot of vamping hands-on-hips, I was finished, and I left the room to change back into my clothes and went to gather my things. I was told that I’d hear a decision in about four weeks, and if chosen, the shoot would either be in Chicago or Los Angeles. The photographer shook my hand, wished me luck, and I left the room.
It was very different experience than I thought it would be, and I’m glad. I didn’t know how much pressure there would be, and what we’d be expected to do, so I became gradually more nervous leading up to it. However, once there, the nerves began to subside, I started having fun, while simultaneously appreciating the absurdity of the situation.