BOGUE

As a cash-strapped lowly-paid freelancer living in the third most expensive city in the world I'm grateful for any freebie beyond muggings and the flu.

A French Vogue magazine from August (Aout) 2011 was lurking in a pile of English 'Hello' glossies given to me by Anne, a terrific Kiwi nurse living seven floors below. Both types of magazines were gratefully received but just as incomprehensibleas each other. 'Hello' features British celebrities that are unheard of beyond their post-Coronation Street stint in rehab and/or broken engagement to a soccer player and, to me, French Vogue is, well, French Vogue.

However, I did still flick through it and noted that the glossy advertisements comprised over three quarters of the pages. The remainder featured models in poses so ridiculous that I showed a few to Sapphire.

An idea was born.

Could this 43 year old farty pants replicate any of those poses in real life?

Let's try this one:

Fabric inexplicably sliced off her left shoulder but thankfully allowing her unfettered public access to her left boob.

Very practical Versace, and a pose I adopt quite often myself:

Exhibit number two sees a woman in danger of having her face eaten by a hoodie exit her huge home; hands on hips and looking determinedly to her left.

Yep, I can do this when Milly next needs to head outside for a whizzer in the Dog Forest:

This one is clearly your typical supermodel-with-a-handbag pose. Sultry, saturated and sort of slumped. 

Perfect when waiting for the bus.

Ah, Chanel. How do we love thee?

..... about as much as I love my greenie grocery bags.

I knew an ex-model in Adelaide who told me that they were always instructed to walk with their arms well behind their shoulders. "It looks good in photos but is hell on your back, which is why no-one does it in real life," she said.  A Posh Spice-alike is demonstrating it here:

And my Adelaide friend was right. It DOES look and feel mighty stupid when done by someone wearing a Target Top from 2009; Levi's purchased during a Singapore trip, Diana Ferrari factory outlet boots and Marks and Spencer sports-strength underwear.

But why is this chick so annoyed? Surely she got paid $10,000 to get out of bed?

...unlike my good self, who is nudged awake by a wet nose and dog breath (and I don't mean Love Chunks) and is surely more deserving of a sulk?

Hot model; check. Sitting on a retro American car; check.  Looking 1970s steamy; check.

"Go outside and sit on the car, Mum," said Sapphire, now rather into her role as fashion director.

"No love, I'll dent the bonnet."

"OK then, but you have to look really sexy and not smile."

"Check."

THIS one takes the cake - not that she'd ever have come close to inhaling cake - for it's sheer lack of sense.  Was she shot in the stomach during an acid flashback?

We'll probably never know.  What we DO know is exactly who does love eating cake. And bacon. And cheese. And chocolate....

Inevitably, the physical, mental and emotional strain of holding up enormous 29 kilogram bodies on 6 foot-long legs gets exhausting, especially when sugar levels drop and brain cells die:

I did empathise; and was grateful that Lyndon had almost finished BBQing the steaks just out of shot.

Sensual telephone services or Bogan Vogueing - just two new career choices to ponder.