The Joy of Youthful Naivete
Having done stage, commercials, and print modeling as a kid, I thought that, by the time I turned 18, I knew pretty much everything there was to know about The Biz. Or at least everything about The Biz in Denver in the early 2000s.
So when my agent rang on my parents’ landline to say I’d booked a promotional modeling job for Nestlé at Breckenridge Ski Resort, I thought I’d be doing some sort of stock photo or video shoot where I’d be nibbling on Toll House Cookies or sipping Nescafe.
Then I saw the wardrobe provided by the client—a headband with wilted kitty ears and a tail tethered only by a flimsy piece of elastic, both to be worn over snow gear—and I realized this was not the gig I expected.
As I trekked through the blustery conditions to meet my contact at the foot of the mountain, a massive, yellow, Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade-sized balloon of Tidy Cats cat litter rose from the horizon.
In front of the balloon lay a garden-height lattice barricade filled with three inches of - you guessed it - litter. The contact smiled and eagerly waved me and the other two “Kitty Girls” inside the box and, with absolutely no sense of irony, handed us each a plastic pooper scooper.
Our job? To serve up clay-dusted PowerBars to executives before hitting the slopes during their corporate retreat.
That’s when I learned that Tidy Cats and PowerBar are both subsidiaries of Nestlé and that “promotional model” is a fancy way to say “brand ambassador.”
Was standing in a human-sized cat box for three days in the Colorado winter worth it? Yup. Apparently, my self-worth had a price, and it was $1,500.
Don’t You Have A Rep for That Sort of Thing?
Incident Type: Non-union promotion
Severity: Minor (relative to later incidences like dislocating my jaw on stage)
Agent: Kent, a tanned, barrel-chested bro with a smile so white it could blind you
The Booking Process
Before I booked Nestlé—meaning I’d been offered a contract of employment—Kent called to say I’d been pinned.
“That’s almost as good as getting the job,” he assured me. “It means you’re in final consideration. Plus, you’re bound to be pinned more than booked—that’s just life.”
Along with a day rate of $500, he said the gig provided a per diem for meals, reimbursement for gas, and a private room in a condo I’d be sharing with the two other girls (the industry’s term for female talent, no matter their age).
When I got the official booking, Kent confirmed that I’d be working from 8:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m., with my evenings free to do as I pleased.
I nearly squealed. At the time, my other job was singing opera at Macaroni Grill for $9 an hour, so making $1,500 and getting to read Anna Quindlen’s new novel alone in bed was my version of winning the Publishers Clearinghouse Sweepstakes.
For all of Kent’s decoding of industry speak, he never elucidated what promotional modeling meant, likely because it has nothing to do with actual modeling other than using attractive women to sell stuff.
Plus, we talent are trained from a young age not to ask questions. If a client inquires whether you can ride a motorcycle, the answer is yes! You’ve got three days—that’s certainly enough time to learn.
Even though you’ve never set foot on a scooter, let alone a Harley.
Fake It ‘Til You Make It
It’s not unusual for talent to be asked to bring their own clothes, but this gig had a special request: black snow gear. And although I am a Colorado native, I don’t come from a winter sports family.
Luckily, my boyfriend at the time had a sister who lived in the mountains, and she kindly allowed me to borrow her snowboarding gear. Snowboarding had recently become an Olympic sport, so anything associated with it came with immediate clout.
Even with my face covered in Wet ‘n Wild black eyeliner whiskers and a baby-pink lipstick nose, when Kitty Girl No. 1 saw me in that Burton bib, her entire demeanor changed.
“Woah! No way,” she said pointing at me.
“Wait. You board?” asked Kitty Girl No. 2.
As I explained, their faces morphed from respecting me to realizing that their initial assessment was correct.
No way was I coordinated enough to do any such thing.
(Not So Great) Expectations
Had I believed this gig was the key to becoming the next Victoria's Secret Angel, perhaps I would have felt more indignant. But since I was just excited to get out of the house, this debacle became a great dinner party story instead of a life-defining event.
The more ego you have, the more bruised you feel when a job doesn’t meet your creative standards.
Which isn’t to say you shouldn’t strive for greatness—just that even the greatest artists endure their fair share of hardships.
Reflections
Twenty-plus years on, this tail, er, tale still reminds me that there’s no shame in a day’s work, whether you're catering to overpaid executives at the bottom of a mountain or the basement of a sex dungeon, and work should be compensated.
I spent much of my early career ashamed of the low-brow jobs I took to make ends meet, thinking that it meant I’d sold out instead of believing I was doing what I needed to support myself as a person in the arts.
And $1,500 was a lot of money (nothing to scoff at now either!). Back then, my body could handle a very boring but physically demanding job. Today, I could no more stand outside in the cold for three days than I could become the next downhill women’s ski champion.
Still, if someone offered me a trip in a time machine, I’d gladly jump in and do it all over again.
Laughing all the way to the bank.
Gia Mora (she/her/hers) is a writer, performer, and producer telling stories that help build a compassionate, equitable, and sustainable future for all—often set to a killer dance beat. A 2024 fellow with Climatebase and Step Zero, Gia’s music video “Take Some Action (to Get Some Action),” her short film “Me and Ma’ii” (quarter-finalist, 2023 Golden Scripts Competition), and her newsletter Animal Matters all focus on everyday ways people can take climate action.
In addition to composing music for films, podcasts, comedy shows, and Minnesota Public Radio, Gia’s essays and journalism have appeared in the Los Angeles Times, the Huffington Post, Treehugger, Modern Farmer, Business Insider, and more. Semi-retired from acting, she won Best Actress at the 2024 Gladiator Film Festival for her work in “The Last Act,” directed by Cannes-award winner Shahab Hosseini.
A vegan yogi with a passion for the One Health approach to sustainability, Gia lives a low-impact life along the Los Angeles River with her partner and two adopted kitties. Follow her adventures on Instagram, Threads, and LinkedIn.
Say hi to my new Managing Editor for Post-Mortem, Farah Faye! She is the host of the Scrappy Reading Series, and is an emerging writer living in Brooklyn, NY with her husband and cat. She holds an MFA in Creative Nonfiction from Spalding University and her work has appeared in Business Insider, Medium, and her Substack, art monster magazine. You can find her on Instagram @whoisfarahfaye and @scrappyreadingseries.
Hi Emi. You gave me a good laugh at the cat litter job but I have to give you props for getting out there and trying. We only fail when we don’t try!💪