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most importantly, be beautiful

Hannah Nalley

The thoughts are flying around my head, all contradicting each other, and I don’t know which ones to write down. I’m stuck between the fear of voicing my inner demons on the chance that they will paint me as a loser, which could repel opportunities, and the lonely reality that no one is reading these anyway. So, what’s the point?


What makes me different from the bum on the street who writes unintelligible jibberish in his tattered journal? Furthermore, what do these markings even mean? They’re just scribbles on a paper, symbols on a screen. What is anything? Aren’t I just the combination of all the content I’ve consumed over the course of my life? Every noble thing I think I know is really just an idea I adopted from someone else, passed down the line like a hot potato through movies, songs, and algorithms.


I wasn't always such a nihilist. Indeed, I long for the person I used to be, unencumbered by the weight of living. I was so bright-eyed and aspirational, filled with the spirit and excited for the endless possibilities in front of me. At 19, I moved to New York in pursuit of modeling. When my savings started running low, I applied for a position at an insurance company but ultimately decided against the corporate life and landed on a shoe store job in Soho.


That lasted about a month or so before I found my way to a hostess position at a swanky restaurant in the theater district–– an infinitely more glamorous environment that became my second home. When I learned that I could live rent-free in model apartments under a standard deal brokered by nightlife promoters, it was a no-brainer. So, after my shifts at the restaurant, I worked a good 3-4 hours at the club, finding out for myself that the city really doesn't sleep.


Through it all, I stayed determined to make it as a model, but my sense of reality was forever warped, and I’ve been adrift ever since. I spent the years before Covid bouncing around various cities, doing a bit of modeling, but mostly partying and enjoying the world's diverse offerings. I didn’t build anything resembling a stable foundation for myself which became evident when the pandemic swept over us in its sudden tidal wave.


It left me scrambling to find footing, questioning everything I thought I knew, and ultimately, I was forced to make a hard pivot. After eight months of feeling trapped in Missouri, living with my parents and working as a grocery store cashier, I decided I’d had enough and went back to New York, unsure of how I was going to support myself, but determined to figure it out.


I had heard about a website where men payed women for dates (yes, just dates) and I was intrigued. After all, I’d spent years watching other people make money off my beauty: commercial brands, modeling agencies, and, most notably, nightlife promoters who sold tables for 10K a night, all while I struggled to pay my phone bill and was stuck living in a bunk bed. I liked the idea of being in control of my own in-demand assets for once.


So, I gave it a go. And honestly, I was thrilled with the newfound lifestyle. The constant attention was a delicious drug for my ego, and the money was fucking fantastic. One elderly gentleman liked me so much that he insisted on booking three consecutive dates in a single day's time. We met for lunch, which turned into an afternoon couples massage, then dinner. All the while, we were laughing and sipping champagne as if we were old friends. I made over $1,000 that day, and in the same breath, I decided to move off my friend’s couch and into a 4-star hotel, which was considerably cheaper at the time, thanks to Covid. 


I was living like a queen, booking dates for breakfast, lunch, dinner–– hell, even Broadway shows–– and like clockwork, I came strutting through the revolving doors of the hotel lobby, shopping bags weighing down my arms, adding another couple of nights to my reservation before heading upstairs to smoke a joint out the hotel window.


I felt invincible, desirable, spending time with men who adored me, somewhat amused that they were shelling out hundreds of dollars just for the sheer pleasure of my company. Of course, I had to ghost the majority of them after a few encounters because inevitably, they would begin to close in on their sexual advances. But it was no matter. Manhattan is a big place, and I had an endless supply of new prospects. 


I didn’t discriminate. If they were willing to pay my minimum fee, I would meet them for dinner. The result was that I became connected with lots of different people from various backgrounds and lines of work: doctors, lawyers, politicians, scientists, stock brokers, you name it. I gained so much perspective through their eyes, and soon I could shape-shift into anyone’s dream girl.


It wasn’t hard. Be polite. Listen. Let them talk about themselves. Ask thoughtful questions. Have a positive attitude. And most importantly, be beautiful. I was a good candidate because I’ve always been a social person who listens intently. And, as I found out, my competition wasn’t very strong, since the majority of other girls were said to be glued to their cellphones during meals.


I don’t often voice these experiences, and I certainly never thought I would share them online, mostly because people usually assume that I slept with every man who took me out. It’s the first question everyone asks, as if they can’t fathom that someone would pay only for the opportunity to spend time with a young, beautiful woman. But I knew from my time in nightlife that there is a monstrous economy based on that exact premise. 


There’s a lot of taboo around escorting, which is technically what I did. But that’s how the world has always been. Men buy women bags, jewelry and shoes to prove what good providers they are, and women tout those objects to signal their worth to society. Expensive cars, boats, and elaborate parties are typical ploys for sex, and beautiful women are most often the ones who reap those material benefits.


Tons of people do it. I’m just one of the few who are willing to say it out loud. And damn does it feel good to get it off my chest. I guess the truth really does set you free.


So, why am I sharing all of this? Good question. I needed to preface everything above so that there could be an understanding of how I got here. I’m only now starting to fully realize the ramifications of the choices I made in my young adulthood and how those byproducts have evolved into the tangled mess of emotions I’m now sitting with.


It took me forever after getting with my current partner, Chad, to put to bed the old ways of trying to subconsciously seduce every man I encountered and accept that I could indeed foster platonic relationships (still a challenge at times if I’m being honest). I have chronically struggled with the idea that my primary value lies in my good looks, which has proven to be a real problem as it has led me into a slew of unnecessary cosmetic procedures that actually compromised my skin quality and made me look a great deal older than I am. I’ve spent the last year in agony over my decision to get filler injections and a “collagen inducing” fibroblast therapy which left me with what seem like permanent burn scars.


Now, as I’m scheduling consultations with the nation’s top dermatologists and aesthetic specialists who I hope will help me mitigate some of the damage, I mourn the effortless, natural beauty I had only a few short years ago. The sharp pain of a perceived deterioration (Likely undetectable to anyone but myself) rears its head every time I look at a photo of myself and often sends me into an obsessive spiral of comparison, either to other women or with my past self. I’m swimming in regret for ever feeling like I had to alter my face to begin with, though it’s no wonder I did when I look back at the path that led me here.


To top it all off, I know this is all incredibly vain and superficial, no doubt the sickness of a modern generation obsessed with our own image, which makes it feel all the more shameful. But I can't let that silence me because it’s a suffocating burden that I carry every day, and I had. to. get. it. out. Besides, like I said, who is going to read this, anyway?


I pray for healing. I pray that the doctors actually care about me and help me achieve the most natural-looking results with the least invasive corrective methods. They can’t totally restore what I had before, because that’s impossible, but I’m setting my sights on the future and counting on my ability to embrace myself in a new form that is uniquely beautiful.


Writing this has helped me understand the genesis of the feelings I struggle with daily, and as scary as it is to post these *very* raw truths, I feel lighter for having done it. We can't hide from who we are. And as far as I'm concerned, I have nothing to be ashamed of.


Ttyt,

Hannah

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Representation

Management

Genetic Artist Management

geneticmodelsmanagement.com

317-735-5173

Booking

Chad Milam

310-703-0320

Label

Hannah Nalley Holdings

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