Ashika and me hanging out on my block in NYC. Photo: Matt Rubin Hey gidday mates. At time of writing, you’re either recovering from last night’s party, preparing for the evening to come, or about to ring in the new year. I’m currently in the middle part of that equation — I just got out of the shower, I’m about to throw on a suit, I’ve got friends coming over for drinks, then we’re all headed out to Miss Lily’s to celebrate the end of this year Jamaican-style. 2013 might not go down as my favourite year of all time,Click to Continue!
Me in Paris, 2011. Photo: Katherine Lowe It’s 4:27am on Monday morning and I’m insomniac-ing out in my bed right now. Having spent the past hour reading three months’ worth of posts from Karley Sciortino I suddenly have a strong inclination to write something. And here we go. Resolutions only work when they’re potentially achievable – ie go to the gym three times a week in an attempt to develop those pectoral muscles that never grew of their own accord (I did this last year for about six months and it worked, but then I popped a weird little herniaClick to Continue!
Photos: Katherine Lowe Welcome to 2011! Exciting isn’t it. The start of a new year is a magical time, filled with the promise of change and the panic that comes with attempting to realise those resolutions that seemed so achievable on paper but which aren’t so simple in practice. When I was working as a booker in 2007/2008, the start of the year was always the time when models would switch agencies in the hopes of breathing new life into their fledgling, booming or declining careers. The change didn’t generally make much of a difference in the grand scheme, butClick to Continue!