Trump Modeling Agency

A Day in the Life of A Trump Modeling Gig

The email started, “Miss Reeves, you’ve been selected as a model at the Trump Golf Resort in Westchester, NY. Arrive in hair and makeup at six a.m. in front of Trump Tower on Fifth Avenue. Transportation will be provided. Pay is $150 flat for the day.”

Wow. The Donald Trump Modeling Agency wanted me to be a model. I was so honored. Finally, all my hard work at being young and beautiful was paying off.

It was the summer of 2006. I had just turned twenty-one (again), and I lived in a fourth-floor walk-up in Hell’s Kitchen. I was working my way into the comedy world and booked odd jobs and modeling gigs to support myself. I wasn’t the type of model who rolled around in the sand in an invisible bikini for Sports Illustrated, and I blame my body for that. My modeling jobs were more like adding to the atmosphere with my charm and pleasant demeanor.

I didn’t know much about Donald Trump at the time other than he basically came with Manhattan, just like the Statue of Liberty and the Times Square Applebees.

I could barely sleep the night before because the image of a black stretch limo idling outside Trump Tower with a driver in white gloves waiting to let me in was almost too good to be true. And I secretly hoped someone had tipped off the paparazzi.

I arrived at five fifty-five that morning because I don’t fuck around when fortune, fame, and my destiny are on the line. And I was the…