About

I model in a city where the wind gets a credit on every shoot. The Baltic decides what a session looks like long before the mood board does: it unbuttons coats, restyles hair between frames, and hands you motion no studio fan has ever matched. Photographers here learn to shoot into it. Models learn to stop flinching. I stopped flinching six years ago and have been booked for it ever since — clients call it 'effortless movement,' and I have never once corrected them.

The book runs editorial to commercial: magazine pages, campaign work for Nordic knitwear and high-street denim, runway when a designer wants someone who can walk cobblestones without drama. What I'm actually selling is repeatability: the face from the casting is the face on the day, in the fifth hour as in the first, at four degrees on an embankment as in a warm studio. My contracts have weather clauses. Nobody has ever needed to invoke one.

Off the clock I live near the harbour with a beige trench that has survived four editorials and every season this city could throw at it, and a black wide-brim hat that photographers keep writing into shoots 'for the shadow.' Between them they cover most briefs: the trench does drama, the hat does mystery, and I do the eight hours of standing still in moving air that makes both of them look intentional.