The Interview

Every photographer I have ever worked with says the same thing at the same moment: about forty minutes before sunset they check the sky, then check me, then start shooting like the light is being repossessed. I am, by trade and by temperament, a golden-hour model. My skin was built for the last hour of the day, my hair catches low sun like it signed an endorsement deal with it, and my best expressions all happen when everyone is slightly rushed and completely happy.

I came up the long way: church pageants in Arima, a cousin with a camera, a decade of learning what my face does from every angle a hillside allows. What I learned is that I'm not a mannequin, I'm a mood. Book me for crisp studio minimalism and we will both be polite about the results. Book me for warmth, for wind, for a straw hat and an unpaved road and a director shouting 'one more' at a sky that isn't listening, and I will hand you a cover.

Between shoots I live a deeply unglamorous and excellent life: doubles on Saturday mornings, my grandmother's garden on Sundays, and an ongoing feud with the humidity over the state of my curls, which the humidity is winning and has been since 2015. The hoops are permanent, the laugh is unretouchable, and the passport is current. If your next issue needs a face the sun already likes, the bookings desk is open.