Before I Was a Model — The Pants Parties Before I ever stepped in front of a camera, before the modeling agencies and photo shoots, our living room in the San Fernando Valley had already turned into a fashion showroom. We used to have what I called “pants parties.” That’s what we named them, and everyone at school knew exactly what that meant. It meant racks and racks of jeans — real jeans, the kind the cool girls wore — filling up our living room like a boutique that had suddenly appeared overnight. The clothes came straight from a warehouse downtown Los Angeles, from the manufacturing district where brands like Rag City Blues, Jordache, and Dittos were being produced. Back then, those names meant everything. If you had the right jeans, you felt like you belonged. My mother had a way of making things happen.She believed in relationships, in trading favors, in finding creative solutions when money was tight. She understood something I didn’t fully grasp at the time — that survival sometimes meant thinking differently. So the trucks would arrive, and suddenly our quiet living room transformed. Metal racks rolled in, heavy with denim in every shade of blue. The smell of new fabric filled the house. Tags dangled from every waistband. It felt exciting, almost magical. Then I would invite everyone from school. Girls would pile into our house, laughing, trying on jeans, holding them up to the mirror, asking each other,“Do these make my butt look good?”It was chaos and fun and teenage energy all at once. And the best part? The jeans were half price. To us, that felt like winning the lottery. Somehow, I always ended up with mine for free. I didn’t question it. I just knew my mother had figured something out again. She had a gift for bartering, for trading value in ways that didn’t always involve money. Sometimes it was connections. Sometimes it was favors. Sometimes it was simply trust. She even bartered clothes on Melrose back when Melrose Avenue was becoming the heartbeat of fashion in Los Angeles.

I don’t know what my sister was thinking, but she got sent off to an all-girls Catholic school.Somehow, those girls figured out how to sneak out the window at night and go hang out with punk rockers. It was around 1982—a different world, a louder world. I wasn’t there for that part. I only heard the stories later. But when I would come back from Japan, I would meet my sister in San Gabriel. She was living in this little house with the drummer for a band called Decry. His name was Rodney Dean, and their song “Fallen” was a hit on the local scene. I still know the words by heart. My sister was only sixteen.Pretty soon, she got pregnant. I went back to Japan again, chasing my own dreams, but when I returned, there was a baby. My nephew.I took that baby to Kmart and let him fill up the shopping cart like it was Christmas. I took him to Bob’s Big Boy and watched him smile with chocolate on his face. I guess, in my own way, I stepped into the role of aunt—and maybe a little bit of protector. My sister had turned punk rock by then.She did the hair, the clothes, the attitude. He had the leather jacket, the drums, and that wild energy that came with the music. And me?I wanted to belong. I think I dated the singer for a minute, just so I could be part of the group. Nothing serious. I just wanted to be close to the music, the noise, the excitement of it all. One time, I marched into the radio station—106.7 FM in Los Angeles—Rodney on the Rock.I banged on the studio door with their cassette tape in my hand. The DJ opened the door and looked at me like I was crazy.“What do you want?” he asked. “Will you please listen to this?” I said.“This is my sister’s husband’s band.” He told me to come in and sit on his lap.I remember thinking, Oh boy, here we go. But I did it anyway. I had long hair back then—I refused to cut it—but I dressed punk rock to fit in. He looked at me and said,“You’re so beautiful.” I smiled politely and said,“Thank you. But will you please play the song?”

It is amazing to be here in Skool to learn AI and so much more! Thank you for being here and joining me on this journey! @Artworqq Kevin Suber

Tonight I tried a fantasy-style writing prompt I discovered inside Skill and Soul Studio on S-K-O-O-L. It felt mystical, creative, and a little unexpected — but it reminded me that memoir writing isn’t always linear. Sometimes imagination opens the door to deeper memories and new ways of telling the truth Skill and Soul Studio

This is the first short film I created from my memoir- one of survival, dreams, and finding strength when you feel like you have none. See more📽️👉https://www.youtube.com/@FreeFallin1989