Tria Giovan Interview for Lenny Letter


Photographer Tria Giovan sometimes wonders where the children in her portraits are today. She photographed them in Cuba in the 1990s. She’s heard a handful of them have made it to Europe — Spain, Germany — though she doesn’t know how. Passports would have been an issue. Money presented its own problems. At the time, Cuba was a place where very little seemed possible.

Read the rest at Lenny Letter.


Fashion for Kids for Who What Wear


In March, Vogue published an article titled “Do Seoul’s Toddlers Have the World’s Most Stylish Hair?” that featured nine street style photographs of the three-feet-and-under set snapped during fashion week. Their hair (pigtails, fauxhawks, an abridged Bieber coif) struck me less than what they were wearing (leather jackets, dandy suits, crop tops). If you squinted at the screen hard enough, warping the scale, any one of these outfits could have easily been worn by a human four times their age. It was too on-trend, too hip, too… totally devoid of the mismatched, misshapen messiness that is practically a rite of passage for kids. When you start off with Givenchy at age 4, what on earth is there to look forward to?

Read the rest at Who What Wear.


Feather Rib Tattoos are My Generation’s Tramp Stamp


The following is an excerpt from a piece originally featured on The Style Con.

Two months ago, I was very much in a market for a tattoo. Not that I’m not still in the market for one, but there’s nothing quite like the masochist draw of the tattoo parlor when you’re feeling particularly sour and mean, dreaming of needles and blood and permanent self-expression. Unfortunately for my lazy quest in being cooler, I didn’t pull the trigger fast enough to coincide with my hate bender, and in the amount of time I hummed and hawed, dawdled in indecision, my perspective on life changed and my confidence to brand myself with it—which is probably a good thing, because “THERE IS NOTHING” was a strong contender for a lifelong cameo on my forearm. Tattooing while having an existential crisis is like driving while drunk; I don’t recommend it.

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Breaking News: Man Buns No Longer Reliable Indicator of Hotness


The following is an excerpt of a piece originally seen on The Style Con.

It seems like just yesterday when I came across my first man bun. Not, like, ever. That honor goes to Brad Pitt circa Legends of the Fall, though his might not have been so much of a man bun as it was a man ponytail, with the added visual benefit of a cascade of straight blonde hair over his perfect, perfect face. Particulars be damned–man pony or man bun–the seed was planted: Men could be far better looking than me, especially if their hairstyle rivaled that of my own.

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6 Things I Will Absolutely Not Miss About Modeling


The following is an excerpt of a piece featured on

There is, somewhere in the NoMad district of New York City, a modeling office with my card still on the wall, even though I know and my bookers know and everyone in accounting knows that I’m not modeling anymore. 

Like a relationship that both parties have let fade off into oblivion instead of directly cutting the cord, we’ve both chosen to phase each other out, quietly and with mutual disinterest. After 10 years as a walking coat hanger, all the phone calls and bookings and flights are over. Fin, done, kaput.

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30 is the New 50: “Old Age” is Killing My Dating Life

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The following is an excerpt from my piece featured on TIME:

“You know,” he says. “It’s tough for people our age.”

It’s 1 a.m. on a Monday, and I am currently on the phone having an argument with a guy I’d been on only four dates with, three of them good. One of them—the last—was less good, given he had gone MIA for the better part of three weeks and I had a sneaking suspicion he had a girlfriend.

We hadn’t slept together, but the kisses had been the type of kisses you walk away from with shaky knees and blind hope. There was something there, and we both knew it, which is why we were attempting to hash things out over the phone at some ungodly hour. Because at our age, we’re adults, and things matter more. The mistakes leave marks.

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