Editorials | Cosmopolitan FR 1/2

This shoot was exactly what people picture when you say you're a model.

Even when I won the Fancy modelling competition, signed my international contract and did test shoots in Paris—none of those moments quite made it feel real.

But here I was. Nearly ten years had passed since I first walked, knees trembling, into my modelling agency’s office in Rotterdam, and now I was being driven across the resort to my hotel room in a golf cart.

Since that first day in Rotterdam, I’d seen New York and Paris—and also the third circle of Dante’s hell. I’d done the casting for this shoot after a sleepless night riddled with attacks, but thanks to a new treatment that seemed to be working, that kind of risk felt far less present now. I’d passed through locks and sluices, but I’d finally made it to a place where I’d begun to reclaim some autonomy. Life was slowly starting to smile at me again.

One dark cloud had appeared on the horizon, but for the time being, I was still managing to skilfully push it to…