I always had a keen interest in clothes: I used to draw my own fashion magazines, I would agonise over new and exotic ways to do up a school tie, I created “dresses” out of a box of scarves. I thought a job in fashion would nurture all these instincts.
I became a model when I was 16. On being signed I truly imagined I would be transported to a world in which I was flown around on Concorde to shoot with renowned photographers while being doused in champagne. Instead, they cancelled Concorde and I spent most of my time between the ages of 16 and 22 getting to grips with the London Underground as I made my way to castings. I found myself in strange environments doing even stranger things, like tussling with huskies in my underwear in the snow, or appearing in an advertisement for the ever-fashionable tampon.
When you start modelling while you are still in education, as I did, your agents become your parents and teachers. I did whatever they told me to. It’s a difficult position to be in when money is being exchanged — even though you’re shown kindness and support you can’t forget that you are a commodity that they can sell. I once got sent to a casting for a film producer in his hotel room. He told me to strip because he needed to know what I looked like naked. I didn’t say anything because I trusted the people who sent me on castings to look out for me. I think that’s what makes the modelling world in particular a dangerous industry. It has a veneer of glamour that hides the cracks. It’s an industry about image-making and fantasy, it warped my reality.