Age before beauty

Having my makeup done pre-shoot. Photo / Matt Kennedy-Good

The phone rang at about midday. It was the call I had been waiting for my whole life.

It was a friend of Sanna's. I had recently done some writing for his marketing company. It was an eye-opening experience. The open plan office was more like a party than a workplace, with acid jazz playing in the background.

Every now and then someone would skateboard around on the concrete floor. The only dress code amongst the youthful staff seemed to be Converse trainers.

It was an edgy, successful side of Finland I had heard much about, full of confidence and entrepreneurial flair. I liked it a lot, although at times found it difficult to concentrate.

On the phone he seemed to be in a rush, and got to the point quickly.

"Are you busy this evening?" he asked.

"Not really," I said. He was a nice guy and I was more than happy to help out again. "What's up?"

"It's a bit out of left-field" he said, "but how would you feel about doing some modelling work?"

Visions of earning piles of Euros to dress up in stylish clothes and hang out with celebrities flashed through my mind. Ever since seeing the movie Zoolander I had been practising the "Blue-Steel" pout, waiting for the day to use it.

"Okay. I'll do it." I said, trying not to sound too keen.

"Great. There's been a last minute cancellation on a client's shoot. You're the only person we could think of."

"No problem" I said, suitably flattered.

"I don't know much about it except that you'll be playing a 30- to 35-year-old father. The client will ring you in a few minutes to give you all the information."

I put down the phone, suddenly not so excited.

I still put myself firmly in the 25-30 age bracket, miles away from the dreaded 30-35 group. I still wear Converse sneakers, after all.

Sanna's friends are all closer to about 25. Despite being five years older, I thought I blended in pretty well. The idea that they saw me as the older guy - some kind of father figure even - was disappointing.

The phone rang. It was the producer. He gave me details about where the shoot was and then described what was going to happen.

"We're just going to take a few shots of you watching TV and smiling at your family" he said.

"All we need is someone who might be able to pass for a Finnish man in his late 30s."

"I'm actually only 30" I said.

"I know, but you'll have to do" he replied.

"The only other guy we've found at such short notice is 65. Just dress old."

It didn't sound much like the glamorous world promised by Zoolander. I wanted harmless petrol fights, not domestic arguments about what TV channel to watch.

A few hours later I arrived at the shoot. I had parted my hair in an old fashioned way and was wearing a formal blue check shirt.

As a final touch I had tucked the shirt in - like many older Finnish men like to - but only loosely so that it puffed out around the midsection and gave an impression of middle aged spread.

The set was a furniture showroom. Judging by the prices it was the type of designer furniture that Finns often tell me Finland is famous for.

There, for the first time, I met my wife and daughter.

Both were stereo-typically Finnish with blonde hair, blue eyes. Both seemed like they belonged in the arms of someone ten years older than me. I felt more like a foreign exchange student than a father.

While the photographer, designer and producer moved around furniture and set up the lighting, we were instructed to go to makeup.

"Seeing as we have a bit of time, perhaps you could add a few wrinkles to age me a bit," I joked with the makeup artist while she applied the finishing touches to my daughter.

"No, we'll just add the normal foundation and powder," she replied, smiling politely.

"Seriously?" I asked.

"Otherwise you'll end up looking red and blotchy under the lights" she explained, as she sat me down and began painting and powdering my face and hands until I felt like a circus clown.

I consoled myself with the thought that if the modelling didn't work out, perhaps I could try for All Black centre.

When everything was finally ready, the designer instructed us to cuddle up on the designer couch and smile at each other, while pretending to watch the big screen TV.

"Matt, could you take your shoes off?" the photographer asked me, after taking a few quick shots.

"Do they make me look too young?" I asked, a little embarrassed, while quickly untying my black Converse boots. They were the tidiest casual shoes I had in Finland.

"No, we just need it to look realistic. Finns would never wear shoes inside."

"Oh, okay" I said, still smiling. They weren't very comfortable anyway.

- Matt Kennedy-Good

Pictured above: Having my makeup done pre-shoot. Photo / Matt Kennedy-Good