Hey, guys — what’s going on? I am Ambercrombie & Fitch. I model for them at their store in the financial district in New York City, but I also do way, way more. I can find different sizes for you if you need it, but if not — hey, that’s cool. No pressure. I can also muss with clothing. Oh, and did I mention that I can shimmy? I can shimmy and gyrate and smell good doing it. I am Ambercrombie & Fitch.

You’re probably curious about a few things right now. One, is this idiot serious? I am. Two, what do I look like shirtless? Very cold. And, perhaps, three: How did this happen? How did a regular guy stumble into a job of emaciated youths and anonymous six-packs? How does one become a “model” for Ambercrombie & Fitch? One recent Tuesday afternoon, I was walking down upper Broadway trying to ignore the rain and avoid eye contact with every other street-bound soul when it happened. I was discovered. Yes, discovered.

“Hey! Hey!” a curly-haired 20-something I soon learned was named Vanessa shouted after me. “Hey. We just love your look.”

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