As I gazed out of the cab’s smudged window specked with raindrops, I was struck by the stark contrast New York City’s grey skyline posed to that of the vibrant natural beauty of Marin County, California, now my previous home.
For a moment, I panicked and chastised myself for ridding of most of my possessions, donating my car to charity, and signing a lease that bound me to a small furnished apartment in the Big Apple. Then I reminded myself of my adolescent dream of being a fashion model in New York City; I owed it to that version of myself to see this journey through.
My love of fashion began in 1980 when fate orchestrated a meeting with Twiggy, the British supermodel and actress, that rendered me starstruck. Twiggy was so glamorous, so alluring, and so very unlike anyone I had met in my small, Southern hometown. When I returned home after meeting her, I told my mother that I had met “Branchy” (I couldn’t remember the name “Twiggy”) and wanted to be just like her. Twiggy represented a world that I knew must exist somewhere…one where texture and color and boundless creativity were exalted…unlike my mundane and restrictive environment of school, swim practice, homework, and chores. This aching desire to experience an industry that celebrated self-expression led to modeling classes and regional modeling gigs in the Southeast and Southwest until my late twenties when the opportunities dissipated. Being a New York model wasn’t in the cards…yet.
In the three decades since leaving modeling in my twenties, I have filled many roles: a student, a wife (no longer), an educator, a published author, a small business owner, a hospice nurse who helped patients die with dignity, and a competitive athlete who swam (most of) the English Channel while in remission from multiple sclerosis. And like most of us, life has taken me down myriad winding roads, some so sublimely beautiful that they have brought tears of joy to my eyes while others have been so profoundly challenging that I felt certain they would break my spirit.
Then in my mid-fifties that aching desire I felt as a teenager to self-express and live a more creative life surfaced with a vengeance. I kept telling myself that it was an absurd notion because no one hired fifty-something models. But the universe will support our dreams and show us signs to follow, if we’re open to being led. I ceased coloring my hair, started drinking more water and eating a healthier diet, and researched beauty regimens for mature skin. These were not decisions made with the goal of returning to modeling, especially since I didn’t perceive that as being a viable option, until social media algorithms started displaying photos and videos of generational models in my feeds. In a mere blink of an eye later, or so it seemed, I had signed a three-year contract with a talent agency in NYC and found myself on a red-eye flight from SFO to JFK with nothing but two large suitcases in tow. Like I said, the universe leads those who follow the signs.
Reviving my modeling career at age 58 elicits a host of emotions, but above all it is an honor: an honor to support and represent my Native American ancestry, other multiple sclerosis survivors, the fashion and beauty industries that have finally turned a corner and now reflect the diversity found in our global population, and an evolving societal perspective that older adults are not dispensable, but rather warriors who have survived battles and thus have meaningful stories to share.
Joanna Grayson
joanna@joannagrayson.com
www.joannagrayson.com
@joannaegrayson
Representation: Model Management Group (MMG)/Jolie Bergeron
