When strangers meet, sometimes a person, you didn’t know before becomes everything within a few months. How was life before? The memories seem faint. But there is no happy end to many stories, and often people fade just as fast as they appear. They become pale like Victorian ghosts, and all that lasts is a picture of a memory, a version of a person that might not even exist any longer.

How does your voice sound when you are excited? How do you smell when I hug you, and how does your precious skin feel? What is the exact spot, size and colour of your birthmark, and what buttons did the shirt you were wearing the day we first kissed have? I try to grab my nails into those memories and keep them alive, force them to stay. But the white frog spreads in my mind and slowly takes away the clarity and intensity of my beloved memories. It makes me sad, and It frightens me, but I can’t stop it, like quicksand.

I never wanted to let you go, and I don’t want my memories to fade just a shade. But I can’t even beg you to please don’t become a ghost, a stranger. All I have left is you haunting my dreams and thoughts instead of being a part of my world. What happened to the bright future vision that could have been ahead? When did you just become an image in my head?

I became good at fixing hurt in the last two years – or at least I thought so; I swallowed my pain and tried to heal as much as possible until the next blow came. And oh dear, there was blow after blow. What you can’t see in my pictures: Just before they were taken, my heart was shattered to pieces. Not like before, but in a final way. I was cast away from the dream I wanted to live with all its pleasures and horrors. I cried all night, went to the hairdresser and continued to cry while she put cheerful colour on my head. Afterwards, I sat on the train with tears rolling down my cheeks.

As a professional, I didn’t want to cancel the planned shooting. When I know one thing about myself, it’s that no matter what happened, I can perform in front of the camera. A switch in my head turns everything else off as soon as I hear that familiar clicking sound. So I did perform. Eventually, grieve might fade just like happiness and love, but I know I will always see sad beauty in those pictures. Can you feel it too?

My outfit
Dress: Maroni Vintage, Earrings: Tukadu, Belt: Alaïa bought at Reawake,
Hat: Tauta, Shoes: Moma, Clutch: Vintage

Pictures: Photorhead
Styling: Greta Schoop & Me

Does love come with a price, and if, how much does it cost? Some people say love is unconditional; others have a lot of demands. Where lies the truth? I grew up being taught that I have to be something special to be worthy of love and that it requires a lot of work to deserve this feeling I was craving for.

So I thought the price of love is to become the cutest girl in the room, the best at school, the one who draws the most beautiful paintings and makes the most intelligent remarks during conversations. The less I felt loved, the more I worked. I read tons of books about every topic you can imagine, starved myself to be the most skinny girl in the room, worked till utter exhaustion and pushed myself into a public position—all of this to catch the attention of people whose love I desired. I wanted them to look at me with pride and to realise that there was nobody who deserved to be loved more than me.

Of course, this was a twisted point of view because although it made me very ambitious and reaching for perfection in everything I did, it didn’t bring me what I was longing for the most. I compared myself to others because there was always somebody more beautiful, more intelligent, more fun and turned into my biggest critic, deconstructing every one of my own successes. It was just not possible to ever satisfy this voice in my head that told me I was not good enough. For a while, I thought I was jealous when I saw others succeeding; then I realised that the root of my dark feelings was something else: Other peoples success hurt me because it made me feel like I was a loser. I was so frustrated that I forgot to see my qualities, focussing on where I saw the potential for improvement. Means everywhere.

People told me how beautiful I was again and again. They praised how good I am at many things and how much they enjoy my company. I listened, felt uncomfortable and couldn’t believe it because if I were this good for real, why would I not be loved? This dangerous logic consumed my mind, and I had to learn to get rid of that critic in my head, which was one of my most difficult tasks. It took me years to admit that that critic is too loud, and piece by piece, I learn to push it back and tell it to be quiet. In my job, I lead people, and my strategy has always been to keep their motivation up. It’s a paradox that I couldn’t provide the same positive circumstances I create for others for myself.

Although I got better in the meanwhile, I don’t think that critic in my head will ever disappear. But I see now that the price of love isn’t to be perfect. People who truly love you want your best and love you despite your faults, they can’t stand it when you cry, and they nourish you. True love doesn’t judge you for your mistakes but builds you up, so you grow. This is what I found in my friends, and it makes me a far happier girl than I was, filled with the strength to grow. It’s not my fault that I didn’t have love whenever I needed it; I am not just enough but a firework. If you don’t see that, you must be looking down while I am filling the sky…

My outfit:
Coat: Coster Copenhagen kindly gifted by Custom Made, Bag & Hat: Vintage, Shoes: A gift, Sunglasses: Saint Laurent, Bangle: Vintage Versace, Shoes: A gift from my mom

Pictures Photörhead

Freedom, that exciting yet frightening feeling. The thrill of doing what you like without compromising and the fear that there is nobody catching you if you fall. All those contradictions mixed up into a cocktail of emotions and experiences, yes this is it: Freedom!

I feel all of it in a row. During the last months, I often cursed this state of freedom, but (teeth-gnashingly) I have to admit, that I enjoyed it as well. Maybe more than I will ever be willing to admit. Freedom is as much a state of mind as well as the circumstance of independence. It doesn’t mean to be reckless or irresponsible, but it means to be presented with a huge variety of choices. Good and bad, exciting and boring, safe and risky. Oh it can be so overwhelming and all the responsibility for your actions is yours, nobody there to blame.

What do you choose if you are the only one judging you, and does the ultimate freedom mean to stop judging yourself but embracing yourself? Freedom, that mental feeling of a rough and wild wind on your face and your hair all a mess. Laughing uncontrolled without worrying how you look and that it might come across vulgar, coming home late eating popcorn sitting on the floor with mascara on your cheeks. Yes, this is how freedom tastes.

I do love it; I do hate it. One minute I want to be saved from it, the next, I realise I am all but helpless and in need of a hero but capable of being free and be me on my own. So I make choices others wouldn’t dare, pushing myself further and further surprised that dreams I didn’t dare to dream while I was busy having nightmares come true. Freedom is where the comfort zone isn’t; I enjoy dancing on the fence, yet I long to rest my head on your shoulders too…

My Outfit
Clothing: Nixi Killick, Shoes: Melissa, Sunglasses: Le Specs, Earrings: old

Pictures: Marco Borromeo

“Don’t be yourself, but all the reflections you see in the mirror!” said one of the dwarves. Snowwhite fell asleep in a bed of ice, thinking about it.

This is my second photoshoot as a model in the snow, and this time, I was so brave and even lied down in my transparent dress. There is a weird thing about me: I can’t stand cold weather and complain a lot, but as soon as there is a camera, I blend out everything, and I’m focused and absolutely living in the moment. Only for the picture.

The snow became just the perfect background and lost its cool touch. I forgot about the wind in my face and became an eerie and melancholic version of Snowwhite. I am really grateful to work with new photographers recently and be more experimental. It feels like seeing myself in a new light again and again. For this shoot, I worked with young Portuguese talent Tiago, who captures people and fashion differently.

The pictures look like a dream that is just about to fade away, already a little bit blurry at the edges, yet still lingering in the air. A dream where Kate Bush just wrote a new enchanting song and the wind chants “Mirror, mirror” in the background in an endless loop.

Mirror, mirror, who is the fairest of them all? Mirror, mirror, do you see me but do you see what you do too? And somewhen the dream is over, the magic captured with the click of the camera. I feel the cold on my face again, wake up from my dream and wonder where my fairy tale is waiting for me.

My Outfit
Dress: Maroni Vintage, Fascinator: Pearls & Swine

Pictures: Tiago Aguiart