BEAUTY TEST
Tessa Smith applied to modelling agencies to test what’s considered beautiful and ended up finding confidence,
I was shocked when the modelling agency called about my application, and smiled my way through the first five minutes of the phone conversation.
Then I realized there were a few things the agent clearly didn’t know: I’m an amputee and I also have a prosthetic right eye.
When I explained I’d lost my eye to cancer as a baby and my left leg when I was 13, the lady on the other end of the line was astonished. Then she asked me to come in the next day.
I used to believe that society was always going to define me by what cancer has done to my body. In that moment last spring, I realized it wasn’t so simple.
Cancer has been part of my life since I was born 17 years ago. I was diagnosed with bilateral retinoblastoma when I was 3 months old. When I was 5 months old, surgeons removed my right eye to prevent the cancer from travelling through the optic nerve into my brain.
Thanks to loving parents and great friends, I grew up a happy, active and creative kid.
When I was 10, I was offered an opportunity to model. My mom and I were walking in downtown Toronto and a woman handing out business cards for an agency rushed up and insisted we book an appointment.
We went for the interview, but instead I decided to focus on competitive swimming. I trained for about eight hours a week at a local swim club and raced at swim meets.
The severe pain in my left leg started about two and a half years later, a burning, throbbing, stabbing sensation behind the knee that I’ll never forget.
There were regular trips from my home in Peterborough, Ont., to Sick Kids Hospital in Toronto for blood tests, scans and clinics. The diagnosis was osteosarcoma, a type of bone cancer.
When the doctors broke the news that I would lose my leg, they told me I had two options for the amputation. Immediately, I chose a procedure called rotationplasty, which is just about the weirdest amputation you can have but is the best one for people who want to stay physically active.
Surgeons amputated from just below my hip to just below my knee, removing the bone and joint that were affected by the tumour. My lower leg was salvaged, brought up to the hip incision, flipped and reat- tached. My ankle now functions as a replacement knee; it faces backward and slips into my prosthetic lower leg.
It took more than a year to learn how to walk again without any devices for assistance. Since then it’s been a series of ups and downs. After a fall two years ago, I was left with chronic pain disease and permanent swelling in the foot and ankle that slide into my prosthesis.
The physical changes weren’t the only huge hurdles.
It took a long time to get used to looking down and seeing metal on my left leg instead of skin. It was a tough adjustment even though I knew it had saved my life.
Some days I would stand in front of the full-length mirror in my room, with my left leg out of view so I could only see the right side of my body in the reflection. Inch by inch, day by day, I gradually brought myself into full view, learning to accept and love my whole self. But when I would walk down the high school hallway or through the mall and a cute guy looked at me, I’d be baffled. Was he looking at my leg, my face or just . . . me?
Throughout my surgery and recov- ery, a thought lingered in the back of my mind. I remembered the modelling agency that approached me when I was 10, and wondered what my prospects would be now. I decided to find out. Acouple of months ago, I contacted a couple of hairstylist and photographer friends.
Within days, I was doing my first photo shoot. I posed wearing my prosthesis and without it.
With my hair done, makeup and nice outfits, I felt confident. I think the photographs reflect that.
Even though I was happy with the results, I braced myself for rejection. Not just because of my eye and my amputation, but also because I’m no size 0.
“Currently we do not have any clients seeking models with disabilities,” began the first email from one agency. “But you’re welcome to come for an interview and if we see potential we’ll represent you in any event.”
A second one congratulated me for making it to the first round, adding that they’d call within 24 hours if they were interested in pursuing me. They didn’t, but they hadn’t dismissed me outright, either.
Then came the most promising response: “We’d love to meet with you!”
In the end, I had offers to sign, but I turned them down.
I realized I’d already found what I needed. When I’d started the process, I told myself it was to test the limits of what society considers beautiful. The truth, is I was actually testing myself.
I came away with the feeling that I’d settled something inside me — and realizing that was the most important thing. I believe that if you’re confident and like yourself the way you are, other people will feel the same way about you.
I’ve learned that even in the face of enormous physical loss, it’s possible to feel strong, brave and beautiful.