The Blurred Line: On Discretion, Imagination, and the Client Who Asked for a Clearer Picture
...Why My Best Feature Might Be the Mystery Itself
On Christmas afternoon, between the gentle glow of the tree and the quiet of a holiday spent in peaceful solitude, my phone chimed with a message. It was from a gentleman inquiring about a future date. His message was polite, direct, and contained a line I’ve come to know well: “I’m very interested, but I have to be honest…I’m hesitant because I’m not entirely sure what you look like.”
He is not the first. He will not be the last.
My photographs on my professional profiles are, intentionally, works of subtle art. They showcase the lines of a gown, the curated sections of lace on skin, the elegant stretch of a leg, the curve of a smile. What they do not showcase is the definitive map of my face. This is not an accident, nor a tease. It is, I have come to understand, a built-in Non-Disclosure Agreement.
For the high-profile client—the man whose face might be recognized at a charity gala, a downtown steakhouse, or an industry summit—discretion isn’t a luxury; it is the entire foundation of our engagement. My blurred face allows him the freedom to be seen with me, without the risk of our private arrangement being publicly decoded by a stray glance or a smartphone camera. It is a shared secret before the first hello. The blur whispers: What happens between us, stays between us.
But this gentleman’s message pointed to the other side of that elegant coin: the human desire to know, to visualize, to mitigate the risk of the unknown. It’s a reasonable anxiety in a world of digital catfishing and underwhelming first dates. His reservation was a gift in disguise; it forced me to articulate the unspoken value of the mystery.
And it reminded me of a consistent refrain I hear in person, once the door closes and the real introduction begins: “You look… even more striking than I imagined.”
It seems the imagination, when given elegant clues but not the full picture, often undersells the reality.
During my time in the modeling industry, I was often placed in a specific lineage. Casting directors and photographers, with their clinical eyes for anatomy and presence, would offer comparisons not as flattery, but as professional shorthand. “She has the poise and architecture of a young Naomi Campbell,” one might say, noting the commanding height, the impossible legs, the regal cheekbones that seem to sculpt light itself. Another would observe, “Look at the gaze; it has that otherworldly intensity of Anok Yai.” Yet another would comment on a certain powerful grace, a confident athleticism in motion, and mention Leomie Anderson.
I share this not to boast—I am, by nature, rather humble—but to provide a useful mental shortcut. For the gentleman who wonders, who seeks a reference point for his mind’s eye, let this be your guide:
Think of the legendary poise, long limbs, and sculpted elegance of a young Naomi Campbell.
Think of the arresting, magnetic gaze and statuesque silhouette of Anok Yai.
Think of the strong, radiant confidence and sculpted definition of Leomie Anderson.
Weave those impressions together, and you will have a sketch far more accurate than any pixelated photo could provide.
This Christmas inquiry was the final nudge I needed. In the spirit of meeting curiosity with creativity, I’ve added a new section to my website called The Continuum. It contains no images of me. Instead, it features the faces of those remarkable women. It is a curated gallery of inspiration, a visual lexicon for those who appreciate the language of aesthetic legacy. It says: If you admire this caliber of beauty, presence, and power, then you understand the continuum on which I exist.
The lesson here, for my wonderful potential clients, is this: what you are investing in is not a verified photograph. You are investing in an experience that begins with discretion, is built on intelligent conversation, and culminates in a reveal that is designed to exceed a calculated expectation.
The blur is my first gift to you: the gift of privacy, of safety, of a story that belongs only to us. The reality—the long walks, the easy laughter, the shared quiet, the striking woman who greets you—is the second, and far greater, one.
So, to the gentleman who messaged on Christmas, and to all who share his quiet wonder: your curiosity is respected. Your discretion is guaranteed. And your imagination, I promise you, is not nearly ambitious enough.
I look forward to the delightful moment when I prove it 😉