The fictional Janice Dickinson agency that popped up in New York's SoHo neighborhood offered a place for brave models to drop off headshots for review by Dickinson. Ringing the storefront's doorbell, aspiring models heard such snippy Dickinson retorts as, "I'd hire you to clean my toilets" and "I've seen better skin on a crocodile."
The faux agency came with a phone number where a perky receptionist played on Janice's two favorite hobbies (humiliating people and plastic surgery) by telling callers why Janice was unable to come to the phone: She was either "turning one of her models into a broken, hollow shell of a man," or she "just had her lips done and they are the size of small footballs."
Wild postings featured model headshots marked with red pen to show where work was needed. Billboards and bus sides running in New York and Los Angeles proclaimed, "Modeling has met its mouth."