I scroll through her videos. It’s definitely her.
Because that’s definitely Xavier Henry, in her kitchen, making a smoothie. He plays for the Baltimore Terrors, which makes me wonder why he was at an event for the Boston Buzzards the other night.
She’s pretty ClikClak famous. I jot her name down and give her a follow. Maybe, if I get stuck, I can reach out to her.
After about three days, I finally have some ideas. I also have a day off, as does Carlos, which is perfect. It’s time for phase one.
“I’m just going to use my name, Hannah LaRosa,” I announce as Carlos is applying some makeup goop to my face. He’s integral in phase one—making me look attractive. Attractive people definitely get more views. At least that’s how it seems to me. Plus, I never really learned how to do makeup, and since I live with an aspiring artist, it seems foolish not to take advantage of his talent.
He’s also going to photograph every look for his Instagram profile, so we’re both getting content here, in addition to the transition videos he’s filming. That’s part of his plan.
“Why not jazz it up a little? Try something memorable. Like ... Hannah Storm.”
I dip my chin and roll my eyes at Carlos, causing his brush to slip.
“What is that look for? Keep your chin up.”
“There’s already a Hannah Storm. She’s onSportsCenter.”
“And I would know this how? You know I’m not watching any females during sporting events.”
I’m tempted to roll my eyes again, but I don’t want Carlos to take my attitude out on my face. He won’t let me look in the mirror until he’s done. I know he’s talented—I see how he transforms himself for nights out on the town—but I doubt there’s much he can do for me. I’ll still have a square jaw, fair complexion, boring brown hair, and tobacco-brown eyes. Nothing exciting here.
And no matter what camera angles we use, I’ll still have the body of someone who used to be athletic but has let herself go and carries the weight to prove it.
I’m fine with my body. She went through a lot, and I’m not going to punish her. I also realize life is too short not to enjoy carbohydrates.
The TV industry, however, does not seem to realize this. Females are expected to be thin, regardless of age. For men, it seems, there’s a lot more leeway. I remember being at my parents’ house and watching their local news during the year I was recuperating. The male “star” anchor had to weigh well over three hundred pounds, while his female co-host was undoubtedly a size 4. I doubt she would have kept her job had the roles been reversed.
That was years ago. Maybe we’re heading into a time of growth. That all bodies are worthy of love and acceptance, and my clothing size does not impact my ability to discuss and analyze what’s going on in the sporting world.
Based on the current physiques of the top female sports reporters, like Erin Andrews, Lindsay Czarniak, Cari Champion, and Rachel Nichols, I still don’t think the decision-makers in the industry have received that message of acceptance and inclusion.
Maybe I’ll change all that.
“Did you figure out what you’re going to wear?”
I shrug, trying to pretend that he’s not putting eyeliner on my water line. I didn’t even know that the very inside rim of your eye was called the water line until about ten seconds ago. I’m pretty sure it’s named that because my eye is watering something fierce. I’m also pretty sure that you aren’t meant to paint that part of your body.
“I knew you wouldn’t take this seriously. We’re putting a lot of work in here. You have to commit to the part. Like, all the way.”
Carlos pulls back and walks over to his closet. “Voila!” he exclaims, pulling a bright red suit out of 1988.
I mean, his closet.
“What the hell is that?” I can see the shoulder pads from across the room. “No. No way, no how.”
He lays it carefully on the bed as if it were some expensive couture gown by some famous designer. Clothes have never been my thing.
“I can see it all planned out. It’s part of the gimmick. You’re doing these super serious reports of ridiculous information in ’80s and ’90s power suits. It’s going to be a look. When you do your ‘This Day in Sports’ videos, you can go for a more contemporary style. Trust me, you’ve got to do something to make yourself stand out. And we can see which videos do better, but either way, you’ll have a body of work and a following.”
While there’s a non-zero chance that Carlos is right, I don’t want to look like an ass either. Next thing you know he’ll be asking me to dance for my videos.
There’s a reason why I was a soccer player and not a cheerleader. I’m athletic and fluid with a ball. That’s about the only time. Rhythm is a stranger who wants nothing to do with me.
I pick up the suit. “I’m not dancing.”
Carlos laughs. “Girl, I don’t dislike anyone enough to make them suffer through that. We want people to hire you, not run screaming.”
