Silk, leather, and Parisian tears.
I've been thinking about what to say to you. Not to everyone on this list. To you specifically, the one who reads these and feels something and still hasn't reached out. I've just had the most extraordinary month of my life, and my first instinct, sitting in the car on the way back to Soho House Paris with happy tears on my face, was to want to tell someone. I'm telling you.
Here's what happened.
I've modeled at LA Fashion Week and attended New York Fashion Week, but Paris is the pinnacle, and I knew that walking in. What I didn't expect was Off-White. I wouldn't have called myself their demographic. I walked into that show with an open mind and walked out converted. Maroon silks against royal blue lace, leather moto jackets thrown over the most delicate fabrics. That contrast of tough and soft felt like looking in a mirror, like the collection understood something about women most people take years to learn. February had already taught me something about tough and soft. Paris just put it on a runway.
When we walked out, the paparazzi stopped me. I smiled, I posed, I held it together. And then in the car back to our suite I cried happy tears, the kind that show up when something you dreamed about as a little girl actually happens and your body doesn't know what else to do with it. Paris was beyond what I imagined. I'm still not done processing it.
London was its own kind of perfect. The Connaught. Tea at Claridge's. Dinner at Gymkhana, where the crispy Punjabi samosas and the chicken butter masala are still on my mind weeks later. Raye at the O2, everything a concert should be, the kind of night where you glance at someone and don't need to say a word. Then Paris, the large suite at Soho House, a romantic Parisian dream that turned out to be exactly that.
Then Indian Wells, my first BNP Paribas Open. Alcaraz, my fellow Spaniard, I take it personally, didn't win. I, however, absolutely did. Air-conditioned suite, a window onto the court, caviar, oysters, lobster rolls. Every morning started by the pool with an iced coffee and a yogurt parfait before the heat set in. I want to go back every year.
Three months with a trainer and I feel it everywhere. More energy, stronger, still small and exactly as I like to be. I also started a femme heels dance class. Modern, sensual, the kind of movement that teaches you precisely what your body can do. They film each of us on the final class. I'm six in. I cannot wait to show you what I've learned.
Last weekend I saw Sessa at The Auditorium in South Pasadena, an old elementary school auditorium turned concert hall, intimate and perfect. Modern Brazilian jazz. It feels like a cool, hip, sexy tropical vacation in song form. The Living Room omakase was phenomenal. Spring is doing something to me. I feel lighter, stronger, more alive. Blooming is the right word, and I'm not embarrassed to use it.
The only question is whether you'll be around to see it.
Where you'll find me
Dana Point, now through April 2. I'm at the Waldorf Astoria as I write this, beach outside the window, sun everywhere. A rare cancellation opened up this week. This is the kind of opening that doesn't come back around. If something in you is moving, listen to it. Reach out today.
Unavailable, April 13 to 14.
New Orleans, April 23 to 26. My first Jazzfest, though New Orleans and I have history. Stevie Nicks, Tyler Childers, David Byrne, St. Vincent, Rod Stewart, Lorde. The food, the architecture, the culture. This city has always pulled at me, and Jazzfest feels like the right way to go back. Limited availability.
San Francisco, April 28 to 29. Brief window. If you're in the Bay Area, you know what to do.
Los Angeles. Home before and after.
Fly me to you. Tell me where you are. I'll tell you when I can be there.
New photos are live on the site. Go look.
One more thing: I have a photoshoot on May 26 with Hello Miss. If you'd like custom content shot just for you, reach out now. Spots are very limited, and I mean that.
Here's what I want you to understand. I just came back from the most beautiful month of my life. I'm stronger than I've been in years. I'm standing in a beach hotel in Southern California with a rare opening in my calendar and your name, metaphorically, on my mind. The men who actually reach out aren't impulsive. They've been thinking about it. They recognize the moment when it arrives, and they act.
This is the moment. You know how to find me.