I'm a skinny bitch. Bitchy, when need be, but skinny, always. How's that now, you ask? Does a hard partying, model/promoter lifestyle not shine as a beacon for health and athleticism? Oh, but it does. Allow me to introduce you to the Skinny Promo Model Bitch Diet...no sneakers or Lululemon pants required.
- Drink copious amounts of vodka.
For a little Asian, I can down my vodka with the best of them. Nurture has taken over nature in this case and my promo-breeding has made it so that three times a week from the hours of 11p.m. to last man standing, vodka renders itself to water in my body. Okay, water that gets me wasted, but not nearly as much as it should. They key here is vodka and nothing but. It's all about shots. Cranberry juice is for high school girls and pansies. The only acceptable mix is sugar-free diet Redbull or a lime. I like my girly cocktails at dinners but they tend to be full of sugar and other crap. Like my Russian girlfriends wisely advise, it's all about the WODKA.
- Those extra 4.5 inches.
I'm talking about heels, of course. Waltzing around three or four (or five or six..) times a week for hours on end in sky-high heels gives your legs quite the workout. I practically live in heels and have to run all around clubs in them providing me with an arched-angle workout that you can't get at the gym. This supposed kitten heeled comeback in fashion this season can kiss my toned ass. The magic number is 4.5...inches that is! Tall enough to look amazing and work those calves but not high enough to borderline on hooker-esque. (Defend Loubs all you want girls, but those shiny, patent leather, platform 6-inchers belong on escorts and escorts only.) Guiseppe, Nicholas, Rupert and Alexander care not just about your fashion but your health too...obviously. Now strap on a pair and get moving.
- Shake it like a Polaroid picture.
Shake it, and shake it often. Dancing at a club usually entails bobbing around from side to side while having screaming conversations with your booth mates over the bass line. Heck, on most of my nights the dance floor isn't so much a dance floor as it is a single's mixer. I make a point of dancing my face off at least once a week. When the dance floor won't suffice, there's always in the booth or better yet on the tables. Fist pumping, booty shaking, legs rocking, and whatever else you can do, do it. It's fun. It's calorie burning. And it sure beats talking to all the duds who are trying to pick you up should you remain sedentary. Oh Andre 3000, you are so wise.
- Cooked food is for suckers.
My favorite meal is steak tartare. I could eat that for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Sushi is a close second. What can I say -- I like my animals raw. Fortunately, there are enough trendy sushi restaurants in this city to dine at so I don't have to resort to health/fresh/raw eateries to maintain my raw cravings and can still be social. Dinner at Blowfish before a night out? No problem. Drinks and bites at Ja Bistro on a Saturday? Sure thing. Keeping it (mostly) raw when dining out allows for a meal that doesn't necessarily have to be belt line busting. Also, as some one who has to (seriously, has to) have dessert at, oh, almost every meal, I rather save my calories for all things sweet. Baked isn't the same as cooked, right?! Whatever, cake is so worth it.
- Sleep it off.
When you like to party, you some times get home at 4a.m. When you like to party and it's your job, some times you come home after sunrise. What does this mean for your sleep schedule? Mostly that a good portion of it occurs during the day. On the weekends anyway. And what does this mean for staying a skinny minny? Well, simply put, if you're sleeping, you can't be eating. And when you sleep your way through most normal hours of meals, it means you're eating even less. There are quite a few days a week where dinner is the only meal I have. (And some times late night junk after a night out, but I mean....McDonald's after a particularly intense night is practically a right of passage in your twenties.) Healthy, it ain't, but when I'm hungover in bed, there is not a power on Earth that will make me functional enough to prepare a meal. Until the delivery service industry evolves to fit my promoter needs (ugh, hello, how hard is bedside delivery really), daytime starvation once or twice a week it is.
- Balancing cigarettes & tofu.
As Gwyneth Paltrow stated in her recent Harper's Bazar interview, "it's all about finding that balance between cigarettes and tofu." (Some call her insufferable, I call her perfection.) I work three nights a week and go out on my own at least one other night. But, the rest of the time, I am pretty darn healthy. Veggies galore and lean fishes and meat. Does it make up for the irreversible damage I'm likely causing my liver and otherwise the rest of the time? Probably not. But I like my cigarettes just as much, if not a little more, than my tofu. Youth is fucking precious and I plan on procuring one that I can regale endless stories from when I'm older.
And there you have it...the Skinny Promo Model Bitch Diet. Ingest with your skinny tongue firmly placed in your skinny cheek. I'll see all you 4.5 inched, straight vodka guzzling skinny bitches on the dance floor. x
- Drink copious amounts of vodka.
For a little Asian, I can down my vodka with the best of them. Nurture has taken over nature in this case and my promo-breeding has made it so that three times a week from the hours of 11p.m. to last man standing, vodka renders itself to water in my body. Okay, water that gets me wasted, but not nearly as much as it should. They key here is vodka and nothing but. It's all about shots. Cranberry juice is for high school girls and pansies. The only acceptable mix is sugar-free diet Redbull or a lime. I like my girly cocktails at dinners but they tend to be full of sugar and other crap. Like my Russian girlfriends wisely advise, it's all about the WODKA.
- Those extra 4.5 inches.
I'm talking about heels, of course. Waltzing around three or four (or five or six..) times a week for hours on end in sky-high heels gives your legs quite the workout. I practically live in heels and have to run all around clubs in them providing me with an arched-angle workout that you can't get at the gym. This supposed kitten heeled comeback in fashion this season can kiss my toned ass. The magic number is 4.5...inches that is! Tall enough to look amazing and work those calves but not high enough to borderline on hooker-esque. (Defend Loubs all you want girls, but those shiny, patent leather, platform 6-inchers belong on escorts and escorts only.) Guiseppe, Nicholas, Rupert and Alexander care not just about your fashion but your health too...obviously. Now strap on a pair and get moving.
- Shake it like a Polaroid picture.
Shake it, and shake it often. Dancing at a club usually entails bobbing around from side to side while having screaming conversations with your booth mates over the bass line. Heck, on most of my nights the dance floor isn't so much a dance floor as it is a single's mixer. I make a point of dancing my face off at least once a week. When the dance floor won't suffice, there's always in the booth or better yet on the tables. Fist pumping, booty shaking, legs rocking, and whatever else you can do, do it. It's fun. It's calorie burning. And it sure beats talking to all the duds who are trying to pick you up should you remain sedentary. Oh Andre 3000, you are so wise.
- Cooked food is for suckers.
My favorite meal is steak tartare. I could eat that for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Sushi is a close second. What can I say -- I like my animals raw. Fortunately, there are enough trendy sushi restaurants in this city to dine at so I don't have to resort to health/fresh/raw eateries to maintain my raw cravings and can still be social. Dinner at Blowfish before a night out? No problem. Drinks and bites at Ja Bistro on a Saturday? Sure thing. Keeping it (mostly) raw when dining out allows for a meal that doesn't necessarily have to be belt line busting. Also, as some one who has to (seriously, has to) have dessert at, oh, almost every meal, I rather save my calories for all things sweet. Baked isn't the same as cooked, right?! Whatever, cake is so worth it.
- Sleep it off.
When you like to party, you some times get home at 4a.m. When you like to party and it's your job, some times you come home after sunrise. What does this mean for your sleep schedule? Mostly that a good portion of it occurs during the day. On the weekends anyway. And what does this mean for staying a skinny minny? Well, simply put, if you're sleeping, you can't be eating. And when you sleep your way through most normal hours of meals, it means you're eating even less. There are quite a few days a week where dinner is the only meal I have. (And some times late night junk after a night out, but I mean....McDonald's after a particularly intense night is practically a right of passage in your twenties.) Healthy, it ain't, but when I'm hungover in bed, there is not a power on Earth that will make me functional enough to prepare a meal. Until the delivery service industry evolves to fit my promoter needs (ugh, hello, how hard is bedside delivery really), daytime starvation once or twice a week it is.
- Balancing cigarettes & tofu.
As Gwyneth Paltrow stated in her recent Harper's Bazar interview, "it's all about finding that balance between cigarettes and tofu." (Some call her insufferable, I call her perfection.) I work three nights a week and go out on my own at least one other night. But, the rest of the time, I am pretty darn healthy. Veggies galore and lean fishes and meat. Does it make up for the irreversible damage I'm likely causing my liver and otherwise the rest of the time? Probably not. But I like my cigarettes just as much, if not a little more, than my tofu. Youth is fucking precious and I plan on procuring one that I can regale endless stories from when I'm older.
And there you have it...the Skinny Promo Model Bitch Diet. Ingest with your skinny tongue firmly placed in your skinny cheek. I'll see all you 4.5 inched, straight vodka guzzling skinny bitches on the dance floor. x
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