They live at the Barbizon for Women, the Shelton, the Beaux Arts, Tudor City and other similar East Side hotels, and they lunch along the counter at 247 Park Avenue and 420 Lexington Avenue, buildings in which models' agents, advertisers and photographers have headquarters. At cocktail time, you usually find those with dates at Armando's or the Little Club. Few models flash expensive furs or clothes, yet they are natty and neat, clean-cut, with small features, streamlined, slender and sober. But these luminous lollipops are responsible for a pernicious influence in dress. Even the most girlish wear girdles, in a mistaken notion it makes their gowns look more slinky. How really silly! There is nothing cuter than an undulating form swaying to a rumba band. And it's unfair to an escort to clasp a handful of rubber and steel when dancing--instead of something warm and human. It's really simple, the way the New York girl-grabbers snag the new models. There's a clique composed of guys who throw cocktail parties, and they manage to keep on excellent terms with the leading models' agents, photographers and publicity boys. When they hear about a new subject in town, they throw a party in her honor and invite all the others in the gang. Some are wealthy. But others make a very good living at the thing. One gimmick is to tax all the male guests a "pro rata" share for the cost of the party, with it generally understood that the host is a major expense. More indirectly, these connivers, known in other walks by an ugly four-letter word, get by through carrying files of desirable phone numbers. Some of these characters have "pocket" businesses, such as the sale of diamonds or furs, and every time they complete an introduction to a money-man, the patron is expected to buy a hunk of jewelry or a neck-piece from the go-between, as a gift to the gal. No classification or occupation is faked as much as that of model. Many have filed their names with one of the big agents, maybe even done a couple of jobs. But they soon find other means to make money, less arduous than standing on their feet eight hours a day under hot Kleig lights, more steady than awaiting calls for their type. The term "model" is loosely kicked around in New York and it covers a multitude of skins. It's difficult for a stranger to meet a real one--that is, unless he has friends in one of the allied businesses, such as advertising, publicity or art. We are, of course, referring to photographers' models. There are classifications--much larger--of the ones who model fashions. They should be called mannequins, but that seems a word used only in Paris. Every wholesale house in the huge cloak and suit industry employs at least one model and all the swank retail stores have whole staffs.