Model Behavior.(fashion models)(Editorial)

Byline: Linda Wells, Editor in Chief

When I met my 17-year-old cousin for dinner, she was sitting at the bar of a restaurant next to a very interested businessman. He flinched when he saw me approaching and removed his loafered foot from the rail of her bar stool. Smart man. "Was he trying to pick you up?" I asked Lauren. "I think so. He asked if he could buy me a drink." And? "I told him I'm underage."

Lauren is five feet eleven-and-a-half with ice blue eyes and chestnut hair down to her waist. She was working in New York City for the summer as a model. There, in a apartment rented by the agency, she bunked with girls from Russia and Brazil, sharing clothes, shampoo, and an empty refrigerator. It sounded so wholesome, like a Doris Day movie or a really attractive summer camp.

Lauren visited her agency most days, where she was taught to walk, dress, and pose, just like Tyra does on America's Next Top Model --except, apparently, without the warmth. "They voted me 'worst Polaroid,'" Lauren told me one night. The agents had complained to my lovely cousin about having to Photoshop her legs. Mind you, Lauren's legs are lithe, bump-free, and come up to my shoulder, but no matter. She hit the gym.

Her agent then took a closer look at ...