New Faces in New Places: My Tokyo Modelling Placement
Running on two hours of sleep, I found myself in a minivan surrounded by seven girls I’d just met. We were wedged together like sardines, half-delirious, and singing along to Miley Cyrus – badly. Between us, we spanned seven continents, countless languages, and an eighteen-year age range. We ended up living together, in an ecosystem where your closest friends are simultaneously your competition, united in Tokyo by the niche reality of being international models on placement.
We were the lesser known species of the modelling world. The ‘new faces’ who are developing their portfolios, attempting to swim in an overpopulated and ruthlessly competitive sea of genetically gifted humans.
This was my reality earlier this year, Tokyo became my home for ten weeks as I embarked on my first modelling placement. The experience began chaotically, with the check-in lady at London Gatwick dragging me away from my mum. The homesickness was immediate, but once I stumbled into my apartment 20 hours later and saw Mount Fuji distantly from my balcony, things slowly began to shift.
Having never done a placement before, everything was uncharted territory, and the immediate intensity was unexpected. The contract begins the moment you hit tarmac, so after a sleep- deprived introduction with my wonderful agency, I was introduced to the infamous casting car, where I spent the majority of my time.
Each day we’d be driven by one of the agents, tumble out the car, line up neatly in front of a daunting table, and suddenly you’d hear your name amongst a stream of Japanese, realising they were talking about you. The process can only be likened to being paraded around like a show horse, trying to radiate “choose me!” on three hours of sleep. It was both undeniably thrilling and bizarrely adrenaline-inducing.
Back in London, I was used to two or three castings per month. Twelve castings a day, five days a week was a different ballpark – but I loved it. Every day felt like a mini tour of Tokyo, piled into the minivan, singing and hopping out for countless 7/11 pitstops.
Then came the more brutal part: the decision. The client would handpick who they liked and send everyone else back to the car – the polite way of saying “not interested.” Learning not to take the rejection personally took time, but the client usually knows what they want and I appreciated the directness. No guessing whether they liked me, which often happens in London. You either got chosen or you didn’t.
Because of the underlying competition, I thought I might struggle to make friends 6,000 miles from home, and as the youngest by a few years, I didn’t immediately click with the girls I lived with. Thankfully, Ellie and Laura, two girls from my mother agency in London, were also in Tokyo — with a different agency.
We first met up in Shibuya, determined to fulfil our western cravings for pizza, which we followed with the first of many Denny's pancake trips – which became a ritual after long casting days! The three of us clicked instantly. We had no idea what we were doing, but we figured it out together. I cannot imagine having done it without them.
The best moments were when the timing aligned at a casting and we’d arrive simultaneously, reuniting with such happiness and laughter as if the same thing hadn’t happened twenty minutes earlier. But it was all so exciting!
When it came to booking jobs, the unhealthy comparisons began to set in around week three - once the initial quiet period wore off and we found our footing. Laura was booking jobs immediately, sometimes twice per day, and Ellie was working back-to-back by week three… while I had done three jobs in total. Imposter syndrome crept in, my mind filled with doubts and I began to question “Will I break even?” and my biggest fear “Will I get sent home early?”. Anxiety consumed me as I overthought every avenue, but then came the problem – my posing. I had no idea what I was doing, and it showed. After three much needed posing classes with my agency, my casting success rate noticeably improved.
Comparison is truly the thief of joy, and I should’ve never doubted myself because just days after my inferiority complex, I booked an editorial titled ‘Her and Her Jacket’ for Numéro Magazine – my first substantial job in Tokyo. I got to work alongside a friend which immediately increased comfortability and allowed the set to transform into a playground for creativity. We spent the day laughing and experimenting with poses in beautifully tailored suits and seamlessly attached fake fringes, everyone’s vision merging into one.
This marked a turning point for me. I soon began booking three to four jobs a week, which was a stark contrast to London, where for me work fluctuates drastically. As my schedule filled, I grew to appreciate Japan’s work culture. The respect on set was beyond honourable: heaters appeared when it was cold, hands shielded my eyes from bright light, and lunch was always provided. Every detail was meticulously planned, which was a contrast to London’s sometimes more go-with-the-flow and spontaneous energy.
The styling was another shock, respect was high, but privacy was definitely not. Stylists were adamant against models dressing themselves, which is understandable given the high value of most garments, but having someone stick a nipple cover on you is a tad too personal. One stylist even accompanied me to the bathroom, as my neck was adorned with an enormous diamond necklace.
Other jobs had me doing some rogue activities: I hiked, danced, ate cakes for four hours straight, attempted to catch a live fish, and was told to “act more like a lesbian”. Whatever that means? A seventeen-hour job left me almost psychotic, posing from 4am - 9pm! The team was lovely, but by hour fourteen I was trying everything to crank out poses faster than the camera could click, however despite my best efforts we wrapped after the full seventeen hours.
Towards the end of my stay, I had my biggest “pinch me” moment, shooting for Harper’s Bazaar! After a long day of castings I received a message from my agent saying, “You booked Harper’s Bazaar for tomorrow.” Immediately a smile tattooed itself to my face, my tiredness vanished, and I burst into dance. After such a hard time adjusting to Tokyo and feeling unsure I belonged there, it was the most rewarding thing to book such a big editorial – and seeing its release was another.
The girls and I were exhilarated for every release date, running to the magazine shop ASAP! I’ll never forget walking in and seeing a row of magazines which held editorials of me, Ellie, and Laura back-to-back, as if set up just for us. It is always surreal to see yourself in print, but to see your best friends right there alongside you is an otherworldly feeling. Flicking through and recognising not only each other, but nearly every face – the modelling community was small so you really did know everyone!
Each weekend you could guarantee where every model in Tokyo would be, like clockwork we’d all migrate to ‘Take’ – a miniscule bar tailored to ‘models only’ with comp cards plastered across the walls. It was disgusting, with smoking being acceptable indoors in Japan, best believe everyone was chain-smoking like it was an Olympic sport!
Ellie and I were the two non-smokers, yet we’d still leave smelling like human ashtrays and have to fumigate our clothes the second we got home. Despite how grotty it was, the atmosphere was so addictive that we found ourselves there most weekends – along with everyone you’d either worked with, heard of, or crushed on at a casting (which was a regular occurrence!)
Beyond the nightlife, the culture shock hit me hard in the first few weeks. I felt like I’d been dropped into a completely alternate reality. Their Eastern normalities took some time to adjust to, and I was completely fascinated. I became unhealthily dependent upon onigiri. It claimed a scandalous portion of my earnings, but the real danger was the thrifting.
Tokyo is a vintage lover's dream, and as someone incapable of walking past a thrift shop, you can imagine the financial damage over ten weeks. My best find came from the weekly flea market – a lambskin coat that cost less than a sandwich! By the end I’d accumulated so much vintage and consequently exploded at the airport.
On our days off my friends and I made it our mission to embrace the culture, seeking only to experience – it didn’t matter what, where or how. And that we did! We hiked mountains, saw the Sakura blossom, the Great Buddha in Kamakura, read fortunes at many temples, went to animal cafés, visited Mount Fuji, explored the ancient town of Kawagoe, and did lots of karaoke… Basically, if we could reach it by train or bus, we went.
During a minimally planned hike up Mount Takao, we saw waterfalls, wild monkeys, a pristine view of Mount Fuji, and many temples – including one being used by monks leading a Buddhist ceremony. Despite language barriers they invited us to join them, reading scripture and waving fire around us as they chanted. This left me completely in awe of Buddhism and instantly became one of my favourite moments of the entire trip.
Because modelling is really only one part of a placement. It’s everything else that can make or break the experience. One day I’d be shooting for Harper’s Bazaar, and two days later I was standing in Fujikawaguchiko at the base of Mount Fuji - which still feels insane to even type out.
When I think back to my time in Japan I realise how distinct the industry is from London. The UK market is so oversaturated that breaking through can feel impossible. In Tokyo you had more visibility because only a handful go on placement – so ironically, in a place where you can’t understand the language, it’s easier to stand out.
To encapsulate the experience in its entirety is challenging because it was truly profound. By no means was it entirely glamorous, with constant pressure to book jobs, quiet competition, long hours, and ample rejection, but all of that holds no power over the abundance of wonderful experiences and lifelong memories being on placement in Tokyo afforded me.
I left with an entirely new vision, four magazines (featuring me) stuffed in my suitcase, a ridiculous amount of vintage, friends I’d call my family, and an exponential amount of gratitude. I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.
Written by Lola Wynn (aka Mimi)
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