The experience of a South-Asian model based in Toronto.

I look down at my jeans ensuring there aren’t any loose threads dangling. I practice rolling my shoulders back to form a straightened posture. I gently brush the locks of my hair and tuck them behind my ear to make the shape of my face more visible. My hands trembling, like they always do before a casting. I check my phone for the time. 9:04AM. I was scheduled for 9AM. I will be called in any second.

“Nah- Najj- uhh, Naj-eh-bah?”

My ears perk up. “Najiba,” I politely correct.

The slim blonde receptionist, uninterested in my correction, barely cracks a smile. “Just down the hall, turn left and follow the signs all the way down. They’re ready for you.”

I snatch my purse and begin walking in the direction as instructed. As I walk down the narrow hallway, I notice all of the images the casting agency is responsible for. Massive prints were on display decorating the entire hallway all the way down. I slow down as I observe the images to get an idea of the type of work the casting agency typically produces, specifically scouting the types of models they commonly cast.

Every woman in the images are tall, slim—and of course—white. They all share similar features: piercing blue or green eyes, blonde or brown hair, chiseled jaws, tiny noses, most either resembling the “American girl next door” blonde Kate Moss look, or the mimetic-Megan-Fox wannabes.

I came down to the same conclusion I always do: I look nothing like these women. What are the chances of a brown girl with dark hair and dark eyes being casted? Was there even a point in showing up? Was the two-hour commute worth being turned away anyway?

I began modeling at age 14. My first show was at the Festival of South Asia- I modeled for the Hudson’s Bay Company and a few local sari boutiques. At 15, I did my first photoshoot as a freelance model. Following that particular shoot, I began taking modeling more seriously, and began attending various castings and photoshoots.

I rapidly became hyperaware of my ethnicity in a way I hadn’t previously. The fashion industry is infamously known for being shallow and cutthroat. I had expected that going in. However, I hadn’t expected the astronomical amount of stereotyping and rejection I would experience based on my race. On the rare occurrence I actually landed a show, I had always been either the only woman of colour, or one of two at the absolute maximum. Throughout my work in the fashion industry, I have experienced both blatant racism and microaggressions from photographers, designers, makeup artists and white models alike.

A makeup artist once said to me (while doing my makeup) “wow, you’re super beautiful for a brown woman. I love doing make up on your skin. I haven’t gotten a chance to work with brown skin yet.” Of course, the dreadful “beautiful for a <insert race here> girl” that every WOC has heard in their lifetime. And to top it all off, I felt like a school project.

Or when a designer once said to me, “you’re the only brown woman I booked for my show, pretty excited about it!” Are white women the only women who know and appreciate fashion? As if white designers haven’t been stealing from brown cultures for “inspiration” and throwing the designs on their white models for decades.

Or the disappointed tone a white designer had when I showed up for a fitting, “you’re much darker than I thought you were,” she said as she apathetically handed me my first garment to try on.

It feels like I just fall under a category. They already know what they are looking for. I am only competing with other ethnic models for a spot, never a white model. I am a quota to fill. I’m not just a model; I am a specific type that only fits when needed.

When I do receive offers, it is often a theme that has to do with my ethnicity. I cannot describe how many times I have turned down photoshoots with incredible, well-established photographers based on the types of themes they’d offered. White photographers have a fascination with exotifying and fetishizing the bodies of racialized women. In my case, it was almost always some sort of half-naked niqab theme, a belly dancing theme, or some sort of kama sutra inspired Bollywood theme, essentially in attempts to depict some sort over-sexualized “exotic” Bollywood woman.

How can we forget when American Apparel had Maks, a Bangladeshi-American model based in Southern California, pose topless with “Made in Bangladesh” printed boldly across her chest? This inevitably sparked controversy with many asserting it was in poor taste, particularly because it was done shortly after the tragic, colossal garment factory disaster (Rana Plaza) that had taken place in Bangladesh only months before. It was indisputably strategically done to hire a Bangladeshi model who was being both tokenized and oversexualized for that particular campaign. In essence, the only time American Apparel casted a South Asian woman was to deliver a very specific message.

To be constantly selected based on your ethnicity (or more often, not selected), rather than your body of work, becomes increasingly draining through time. It isn’t that there aren’t abundant brown models to choose from. It’s that there isn’t an industry for us without tokenization, exotification, hypersexualization, and fetishization. I’ve learned over time that if a casting doesn’t specify the race of a model they’re looking for (i.e. Brown model/Asian model/Black model/etc.) majority of the time, the default is white.

Representation is important. I know what it means to me when I see brown women that look like me on ads and campaigns. But for the brown model, it is a constant struggle to combat the whitewashing of beauty and to continue to put ourselves out there, regardless of the amount of resistance we experience. The industry is not a diverse or an inclusive one. Racialized models in the fashion industry are left with no choice but to force ourselves into the small spaces that we can manage to fit into; all of this while constantly being met with oppressive, racist attitudes.

We are more than “exotic” beauties, we are more than quotas, we are more than sexual objects of desire. We are more, and we deserve more.

Najiba Ali Sardar is a 22-year-old Toronto-based model of Bangladeshi descent. She is currently a student at the University of Toronto with a keen interest in politics and activism.