Victoire Dauxerre - Size Zero: My Life as a Disappearing Model

William Collins

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This eBook first published in Great Britain by William Collins in 2017

Copyright ditions des Arnes, Paris, 2016

English translation Andy Bliss 2017

Cover image Gorunway

Victoire Dauxerre asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

This edition published by arrangement with ditions des Arnes in conjunction with their duly appointed agents The St Marks Agency, London.

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Source ISBN: 9780008220488

Ebook Edition February 2017 ISBN: 9780008220501

Version: 2017-01-13

To my darling brothers, Alexis and Lopold

To my Granddaddy, whom I miss

And to every woman out there

It is the stars,

The stars above us govern our conditions.

Shakespeare, King Lear, Act IV, Scene III

I didnt want to think about it any more. I was feeling fine, or at any rate better. Normal life had resumed: I was studying again, Id moved into a new place, Id found a boyfriend, a job and a future of sorts, and my figure was now more or less acceptable. I was increasingly thinking about getting into acting seriously, because in the end it was the only thing that genuinely interested me.

And then Mum called. Loutch, Ive written an email to that MP whos trying to get a law passed on anorexia. She wanted me to read it to see if I was OK with what shed said and if I wanted her to include my contact details. I read it, and of course I was OK with it. And yes, I wanted her to include my contact details.

She sent it off, and then the journalists started calling with questions. So I told them my story, and everything started all over again.

The eating. Eating to fill myself up, to fill this void. Hating it, but doing it all the same. Seeing my body transform itself, even though I emptied it just as soon as Id filled it. Not recognising it, and hating it. Not recognising myself, and hating me. Feeling so awful, so ugly and so empty. So like nothing at all.

And thats when I decided to relive, one final time, those eight months of my life spent suspended in a vacuum. To write it all down. To write about that constant spinning sensation in my head, that savage and brutal fear that used to devour my body and, to the extent that I still had one, my soul.

About the loneliness I felt when surrounded by all those cynics, the bastards, the lost and the miserable. About the unspeakably disgusting, skeletal ugliness in the midst of all that beauty. And about death itself, adorned in bright lights, make-up, fur, silk, rhinestone, lace, satin, soft leather and 7-inch heels.

The death that was very nearly my own fate.

It was Sunday. Mum had practically dragged me out for a walk around the Marais district to take my mind off things. I didnt feel like it; I didnt feel like doing anything. I was revising for my Bac, the final year school exams in France, and the entrance exams for Sciences Po, Frances leading political studies college, and as they loomed, my anxiety levels were rocketing. But mainly, I was brooding over my heartbreak. It was the first time my heart had been broken by Hugo, who had just left me for Juliette. Dumped. Cast off like a useless, worthless object. The few words hed said were like a slap in the face, a blow to the soul. A failure. Since then, Id been hurting a lot, and had felt a bit scared too. Of being dumped over and over again, of being alone. Of not knowing what to do with my life, let alone with whom. Scared of the unknown, of getting it wrong, of maybe losing my way.

All of a sudden everything had become really complicated. After a problem-free time at primary school, changes in the timetable cut me off from all my friends when I started secondary school. I completely stopped working and then I decided that Id never set foot in a school again I would prepare for my Bac on my own, at home. I planned everything out before announcing my decision to my parents: the contact details for a school where I could study by correspondence; my timetable, planned out to the minute, so that they could see that I really had thought things through; and my promise to do what it took to be the best.

My parents were hardly over the moon, but they agreed to it because they knew what I was like. I was a good pupil, I could put my mind to studying and more than anything I would never have let myself fail at something to which Id committed myself. Especially when Id just forced them into a corner. And I would pass my Bac, with a top mark.

It gave some structure to my life. I like to work fast; as soon as things start to drag, I get bored. I got the whole years syllabus out of the way in six months so that Id have time to do something else with the rest of the year. Like spending time with Granddaddy and Nan, my beloved grandparents. I learned how to dance the salsa and the tango and I also did a bit of acting. I hung out with my cousin Tom and his thirty-something friends, who used to take me out at night. And I spent time with my best friend Sophie, who Id met at the dance classes. My life was very structured.

Id get up at eight oclock and at nine Id settle down to work at my bedroom desk with Plume my cat for company, while Mum worked upstairs in her workshop. My mother is an artist she paints, sculpts, makes collages and draws. She can put her hand to anything. And then it would be the lunch break, watching dumb serials on the box. Mum has never had much of an appetite and didnt stop for lunch. But I often went up to her workshop in the afternoons to spend some time with her, or we would go off to an exhibition or go shopping until the boys got back from school.

Ive got two brothers: Alexis, whos a year and a half younger than me, and Lopold, whos six years younger. I used to feel happy when they got home. Wed have tea together in the kitchen, and life was peaceful and safe.

No doubt about it youre the next Claudia Schiffer. We were window-shopping for watches in Rue des Francs-Bourgeois when a puny little guy accosted me. He hardly came up to my shoulders. I looked him up and down and he smiled at me. Have you ever thought about being a model? Yeah, right, great chat-up technique. Thank you, and goodbye. But instead of ignoring him, Mum showed an interest. Your daughter is extraordinarily beautiful. She has a great nose! It balances her face and would catch the light perfectly. Believe me I know what Im talking about.

He knows what hes talking about? When it comes to noses? I felt like laughing, because I know perfectly well what my nose is like. Its got a little bump, which has been handed down the maternal line in my family for at least three generations and which I spent my whole childhood rubbing, trying to flatten it out and make it go away. So much so that its left a slight blue mark. Any true connoisseur would know that what was not quite right about my face was my nose.