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Erin O'Connor
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Not sure if this was ever posted, its from the bbc:
Muse flash
[FONT=arial,helvetica,sans-serif]She's the officially nice face of fashion, a 6ft 1in 'chic freak', a Morticia from the Midlands, who's become the inspiration for every luxury label from Chanel to Versace. Polly Vernon meets supermodel Erin O'Connor[/FONT]
[FONT=Geneva,Arial,sans-serif]Sunday June 1, 2003
The Observer
[/FONT]
[FONT=Geneva,Arial,sans-serif]No matter how carefully you prepare yourself for a face-to-face encounter with Erin O'Connor (self-made millionaire, self-proclaimed 'freak of nature, stick with a nose', queen of couture, anti-supermodel), you inevitably become a little gob-smacked once you're actually confronted by her. You can know, theoretically, that she stands 6ft 4in in heels, that she's a whip-thin streak of angular, linear hauteur. That her face (pale and fiercely symmetrical) is dominated by her unapologetically large nose, the feature she once loathed, once saw regularly air-brushed into place by unaccommodating art editors; the feature she now credits as her signature, as the making of her. But understanding the theory, and confronting the flesh reality, is not the same thing.
Live, Erin O'Connor is formidable. Heart stopping, breathtaking, overwhelming. Anjelica Huston once told her: 'You'll never be pretty, but you'll always be magnificent,' and it was fair comment.
Erin O'Connor's magnificence is currently the focus of some celebration. She's been a phenomenally successful model for some years. She's an industry power, a Name, a top-of-the-wish-list fixture for designers fantasy-planning their runway shows. She has been the face and Modigliani-referencing form of Chanel, Givenchy, Versace, Dolce & Gabbana, Gucci, Armani, Gaultier. 'She isn't only a model,' raves Jean Paul Gaultier, 'She is quite art. She is like theatre. She is extraordinary inspiration.
I should love to be with her every day.'
Her first published pictures - a Juergen Teller shoot for a 1996 issue of i-D - launched a whole other way of being beautiful. They called it 'freak chic'; they raved about her 'imperfect beauty', and about her 'mass of imperfections that make up a perfect whole'. The illustrator David Downtown made her his muse. 'She is one of the greatest models working today,' claims Karl Lagerfeld. 'Her face is like a Roman vase - not a standard beauty, but a modern anti-beauty.'
But, earlier this year, Erin O'Connor's profile was cranked up a notch, and her magnificence was recognised and embraced by an entirely new audience. In March 2003, she featured in a three-part Channel 4 documentary called This Model Life. The camera followed her as she went about her business in New York and in Paris, and back again. Crucially, and against all the odds - because the signs were that This Model Life should have been the ultimate in stitch-up doc - Erin was exposed as the most unlikely of things. A laid-back, straightforward, warm, emotionally functional, stupendously successful model. A jet setter and a pragmatist. ('Oh, yes,' she says. 'Pragmatic. Pragmatic is exactly what I am.') A funny, sweet, razor-smart 25-year-old who likes her lifestyle very much, but isn't impressed by it and doesn't expect anyone else to be; who likes the way she looks and the money it makes for her, but who has never thought it was the most important thing in the world.
Today, Erin is perched on the extreme edge of an upholstered stool in the bedroom of her preferred suite at Claridge's. She's wearing a heavy brocade strapless dress which flares out and finishes just above her knees, and swishes around her when she walks her million pound-generating power walk into the bathroom, and back out again. Her shoulder-length Cleopatra-styled hair lies poker straight against her head. Her legendary alabaster skin is not quite so alabaster.
'Sorry, sorry, just trying to do something about my spots,' she says. She is attacking her chin with concealer. She hasn't slept for 48 hours, she's got a cold, she's flown from London to New York and back within the last day-and-a-half, she's taken some painkillers and had some champagne and it's all playing havoc with her skin, she explains. In three hours, she has to be on stage for her first-ever presenting gig, compering a modelling competition at Topshop. She's only just received her script. But she doesn't mind. 'I don't mind,' she says.
And so, before you've recovered from the initial impact of The Magnificence, you will find that you collide full on with Erin O'Connor's intense, instant human-ness. It's unavoidable. It's in her big, lolloping comedy gestures. She has an (admittedly elegant) John Cleese-ish slapstick physicality about her. She does double thumbs-up a lot. She throws her gangly limbs about, she waves her hands. 'I think it's because I've got such a long span,' she says, opening her fingers and stretching her arms in demonstration. 'Whatever I do, stuff which I think in my mind is subtle, comes out massively exaggerated. It's all: "Hello! Here I am!"'
It's in her perspective. After seven years in the business, she's not jaded about her profession, nor is she deluded. 'It's a bit of a passion. I really, really enjoy working the clothes. Especially the monsters.' And: 'My job is to sell clothes to very rich women.'
And it's in Chris. Chris is her cousin, who has come down for the night. A sweet, shambolic 19-year-old art student with a Black Country accent and Strokes hair that's got the way it's got because he's having a competition with his friends not to cut it. 'I think I'm her entourage,' he says.
Erin O'Connor: the warm, accessible, artlessly charming, take-your-cousin-along-for-the-ride, human face of an industry that's all about aloof, distance, elitism, exploitation, body fascism, shallow and gloss. This is her brand-new public persona. She is the officially nice face of fashion.
How does that feel?
'It's weird, being labelled all the time. But they do like their categorisations, don't they, the press?'
Well, yes, we do. What other labels have we given her?
'Lager lout and obsessive McDonald's eater. They liked that one, early on. Working-class girl goes from Birmingham to the catwalk. They still like that one. But I don't mind. I've learnt that's what the press like to do: place us.'
Erin O'Connor isn't from Birmingham. She's from Walsall, although she's only got the faintest trace of an accent. She grew up with two sisters, one older, one younger, and her mum and foundry-worker dad, whose working-class roots have been talked up in the name of facilitating categorisation. She was a weird- looking kid. They called her Morticia at school. And Witch Fingers. 'Of course it was difficult, with my nose the size of Concorde and my feet and my height and my lack of breasts,' she says. 'All the girls around me were petite and getting boobs and bums and boyfriends. And I was just vastly growing out of control. And I think that when you are growing like that, out of control, it stops your mind developing in a way. You stay very young. When you're physically growing up, you develop emotionally with that. But I was just growing.' It made her unbelievably shy, she says. She didn't speak, 'literally, for 10 years'.
The first time I met Erin O'Connor - actually, the only other time I ever met Erin O'Connor - was at the NEC's annual rag-trade bash, The Clothes Show Live, in 1996. She was an utterly fledgling model, and I was a hapless 24-year-old PR for teen clothing emporium Miss Selfridge.
The company was in the throes of launching a grand model-hunting extravaganza in association with Models 1. For some reason, and despite being completely unqualified, I was doing Erin's make-up on the small stage that fronted the store's exhibition stand. A gaggle of target demographic teens were ranged about us, looking on in a suspicious fashion. We smiled at each other a bit, but I don't think we spoke. Erin had very long, very straight, very heavy hair, and a brace, and she was indeed excruciatingly shy. She didn't seem particularly magnificent, either. Relatively, she made me feel grown up and composed and like I knew what I was doing, possibly for the first time in my life. She was, she now tells me, moments from making her catwalk debut. 'And I was terrified. And all I knew was there were boys in my class there. And I had to work a feather boa. And there was this one boy, and his name was Stefan and I was in love with him, and there he was, and I had to work a feather boa!'
O'Connor had been scouted at the previous year's NEC event by Models 1's Ellis, model spotter extraordinaire. Until that moment, she hadn't wanted to be a model. 'No, no, no, no, no. I wanted to be a ballerina.' She had gone to the NEC with her friend Michelle Smith ('Please put her name in') and it was raining, and her mascara had run.
But as she and Michelle skulked round the exhibits, Ellis pounced.
What was her opening gambit?
Erin drops her voice an octave or two, and looks at me intensely. 'I'm not being funny or anything, but are you a model?' It's a very accurate imitation.
And what did you say?
She squeals. 'Oooooh, my goodness! No! No! Me? And then of course, as soon as I was spotted, I was right on it. Right on the belief that I did want to do it. Even if it wasn't really my own belief. It's like wow! Physical acceptance! This is unbelievable!'
Erin's rise was not stratospheric. She continued with school for a while, took the National Express up and down to London once a week before eventually packing in her A levels and moving to London full time. She didn't, however, land a lot of work. 'And we tried every avenue.' She went on endless Avon castings, but they 'didn't even want my hands'. She thought many times about giving up. 'Not because of a specific moment, because of one thing that anyone said, although obviously a lot of people said a lot of hurtful things. More because I was thinking: can I do this? Is it braver to walk away?' But she began to pick up catwalk shows, which she found easy, because of the ballet training. 'Walking in heels felt like a holiday after points.' She also found the runway empowering. 'That's where I found my freedom, and that's still where my biggest feeling is, when I'm on stage.'
Erin's big break came a couple of years after she'd started modelling in earnest. She was 20-ish, and in Brazil, with photographer David Sims and hairdresser Guido, on a Harper's Bazaar shoot. She decided to get her hair cut off.
'And that was my liberation,' she says. 'They looked at me, and they were all like this and like that, lifting my hair, and they went: Well? What do you want to do? And I sat there and said: Cut it off. And it was such a release. I found my femininity for the first time, really and truthfully and genuinely, my own version of it. It was like: Oh, here I am! It was sensational, that buzzer going up the back of my head. And then, of course, that was it.' She clicks her fingers. 'It all went crazy.'
O'Connor's appeal has endured and intensified since. Her looks are so not of-the-moment, so unprecedented and unspecific, they haven't limited her. They've made her rich. 'Am I insanely rich? Hmm. Depends who you ask.' They provoke strong reactions, either rapture or rejection, which, she thinks, helped her to detach from them a little bit, and to work out how she felt about them. And, as an added bonus, they are also improving as time goes on. 'My looks make more sense as I get older,' she says. 'My age is with me.'
Erin O'Connor's life is a good one, and she makes no apology for it. 'I would say I live half in New York and half in Claridge's. How decadent! How hysterical!' She hangs with the glossy modelling set, Sophie Dahl and Bay Garnett, etcetera and so on. 'Well, I have two sets of friends in each city, but also, and this is really nice, I have friends who travel around with me.'
Her younger sister Clare shares her new apartment with her, the prime piece of Manhattan real estate O'Connor bought relatively cheaply in the post 9/11 property crash. She's in love, with a set designer called Jack, who is shorter than her. They've been together for two years. He'll be moving into the Manhattan apartment, too, soon. 'Wow. The first time I've lived with anyone.'
There's not a lot of angst about O'Connor, although she's not unfamiliar with personal demon-slaying activities. Her long-term best friend, model Karen Elson, with whom she bonded very early on, recently wrote extensively about her (Elson's) eating disorders. 'She was always very quiet about it [when we shared a flat]. But I was there when she was writing it, in New York. For her, I think it was a relief. She's gone through all of it now. And she's all right. She is all right.'
There are ****** in O'Connor's essentially flawless persona of sweetness and ordinariness. She can overplay the grounded-girl card. And sometimes she forgets to play it all together. She says, for example, that she hoped the Channel 4 documentary might 'put across exactly what we do to lots and lots of people, especially normal people, or what I would class to be "normal" people, who don't know anything about fashion'. It's a statement that has a touch of the Liz Hurleys about it - Hurley famously referred to the non-celebrity classes as civilians, as though the famous are on the front line of life.
But although you might object a bit in theory to this kind of thing, though you might find it a touch disingenuous when someone as eloquent as O'Connor falls back on empty platitudes, you don't actually mind that much when she's in front of you, waving her gangling arms about, laughing her good, strong laugh.
[/FONT]
Muse flash
[FONT=arial,helvetica,sans-serif]She's the officially nice face of fashion, a 6ft 1in 'chic freak', a Morticia from the Midlands, who's become the inspiration for every luxury label from Chanel to Versace. Polly Vernon meets supermodel Erin O'Connor[/FONT]
[FONT=Geneva,Arial,sans-serif]Sunday June 1, 2003
The Observer
[/FONT]
[FONT=Geneva,Arial,sans-serif]No matter how carefully you prepare yourself for a face-to-face encounter with Erin O'Connor (self-made millionaire, self-proclaimed 'freak of nature, stick with a nose', queen of couture, anti-supermodel), you inevitably become a little gob-smacked once you're actually confronted by her. You can know, theoretically, that she stands 6ft 4in in heels, that she's a whip-thin streak of angular, linear hauteur. That her face (pale and fiercely symmetrical) is dominated by her unapologetically large nose, the feature she once loathed, once saw regularly air-brushed into place by unaccommodating art editors; the feature she now credits as her signature, as the making of her. But understanding the theory, and confronting the flesh reality, is not the same thing.
Live, Erin O'Connor is formidable. Heart stopping, breathtaking, overwhelming. Anjelica Huston once told her: 'You'll never be pretty, but you'll always be magnificent,' and it was fair comment.
Erin O'Connor's magnificence is currently the focus of some celebration. She's been a phenomenally successful model for some years. She's an industry power, a Name, a top-of-the-wish-list fixture for designers fantasy-planning their runway shows. She has been the face and Modigliani-referencing form of Chanel, Givenchy, Versace, Dolce & Gabbana, Gucci, Armani, Gaultier. 'She isn't only a model,' raves Jean Paul Gaultier, 'She is quite art. She is like theatre. She is extraordinary inspiration.
I should love to be with her every day.'
Her first published pictures - a Juergen Teller shoot for a 1996 issue of i-D - launched a whole other way of being beautiful. They called it 'freak chic'; they raved about her 'imperfect beauty', and about her 'mass of imperfections that make up a perfect whole'. The illustrator David Downtown made her his muse. 'She is one of the greatest models working today,' claims Karl Lagerfeld. 'Her face is like a Roman vase - not a standard beauty, but a modern anti-beauty.'
But, earlier this year, Erin O'Connor's profile was cranked up a notch, and her magnificence was recognised and embraced by an entirely new audience. In March 2003, she featured in a three-part Channel 4 documentary called This Model Life. The camera followed her as she went about her business in New York and in Paris, and back again. Crucially, and against all the odds - because the signs were that This Model Life should have been the ultimate in stitch-up doc - Erin was exposed as the most unlikely of things. A laid-back, straightforward, warm, emotionally functional, stupendously successful model. A jet setter and a pragmatist. ('Oh, yes,' she says. 'Pragmatic. Pragmatic is exactly what I am.') A funny, sweet, razor-smart 25-year-old who likes her lifestyle very much, but isn't impressed by it and doesn't expect anyone else to be; who likes the way she looks and the money it makes for her, but who has never thought it was the most important thing in the world.
Today, Erin is perched on the extreme edge of an upholstered stool in the bedroom of her preferred suite at Claridge's. She's wearing a heavy brocade strapless dress which flares out and finishes just above her knees, and swishes around her when she walks her million pound-generating power walk into the bathroom, and back out again. Her shoulder-length Cleopatra-styled hair lies poker straight against her head. Her legendary alabaster skin is not quite so alabaster.
'Sorry, sorry, just trying to do something about my spots,' she says. She is attacking her chin with concealer. She hasn't slept for 48 hours, she's got a cold, she's flown from London to New York and back within the last day-and-a-half, she's taken some painkillers and had some champagne and it's all playing havoc with her skin, she explains. In three hours, she has to be on stage for her first-ever presenting gig, compering a modelling competition at Topshop. She's only just received her script. But she doesn't mind. 'I don't mind,' she says.
And so, before you've recovered from the initial impact of The Magnificence, you will find that you collide full on with Erin O'Connor's intense, instant human-ness. It's unavoidable. It's in her big, lolloping comedy gestures. She has an (admittedly elegant) John Cleese-ish slapstick physicality about her. She does double thumbs-up a lot. She throws her gangly limbs about, she waves her hands. 'I think it's because I've got such a long span,' she says, opening her fingers and stretching her arms in demonstration. 'Whatever I do, stuff which I think in my mind is subtle, comes out massively exaggerated. It's all: "Hello! Here I am!"'
It's in her perspective. After seven years in the business, she's not jaded about her profession, nor is she deluded. 'It's a bit of a passion. I really, really enjoy working the clothes. Especially the monsters.' And: 'My job is to sell clothes to very rich women.'
And it's in Chris. Chris is her cousin, who has come down for the night. A sweet, shambolic 19-year-old art student with a Black Country accent and Strokes hair that's got the way it's got because he's having a competition with his friends not to cut it. 'I think I'm her entourage,' he says.
Erin O'Connor: the warm, accessible, artlessly charming, take-your-cousin-along-for-the-ride, human face of an industry that's all about aloof, distance, elitism, exploitation, body fascism, shallow and gloss. This is her brand-new public persona. She is the officially nice face of fashion.
How does that feel?
'It's weird, being labelled all the time. But they do like their categorisations, don't they, the press?'
Well, yes, we do. What other labels have we given her?
'Lager lout and obsessive McDonald's eater. They liked that one, early on. Working-class girl goes from Birmingham to the catwalk. They still like that one. But I don't mind. I've learnt that's what the press like to do: place us.'
Erin O'Connor isn't from Birmingham. She's from Walsall, although she's only got the faintest trace of an accent. She grew up with two sisters, one older, one younger, and her mum and foundry-worker dad, whose working-class roots have been talked up in the name of facilitating categorisation. She was a weird- looking kid. They called her Morticia at school. And Witch Fingers. 'Of course it was difficult, with my nose the size of Concorde and my feet and my height and my lack of breasts,' she says. 'All the girls around me were petite and getting boobs and bums and boyfriends. And I was just vastly growing out of control. And I think that when you are growing like that, out of control, it stops your mind developing in a way. You stay very young. When you're physically growing up, you develop emotionally with that. But I was just growing.' It made her unbelievably shy, she says. She didn't speak, 'literally, for 10 years'.
The first time I met Erin O'Connor - actually, the only other time I ever met Erin O'Connor - was at the NEC's annual rag-trade bash, The Clothes Show Live, in 1996. She was an utterly fledgling model, and I was a hapless 24-year-old PR for teen clothing emporium Miss Selfridge.
The company was in the throes of launching a grand model-hunting extravaganza in association with Models 1. For some reason, and despite being completely unqualified, I was doing Erin's make-up on the small stage that fronted the store's exhibition stand. A gaggle of target demographic teens were ranged about us, looking on in a suspicious fashion. We smiled at each other a bit, but I don't think we spoke. Erin had very long, very straight, very heavy hair, and a brace, and she was indeed excruciatingly shy. She didn't seem particularly magnificent, either. Relatively, she made me feel grown up and composed and like I knew what I was doing, possibly for the first time in my life. She was, she now tells me, moments from making her catwalk debut. 'And I was terrified. And all I knew was there were boys in my class there. And I had to work a feather boa. And there was this one boy, and his name was Stefan and I was in love with him, and there he was, and I had to work a feather boa!'
O'Connor had been scouted at the previous year's NEC event by Models 1's Ellis, model spotter extraordinaire. Until that moment, she hadn't wanted to be a model. 'No, no, no, no, no. I wanted to be a ballerina.' She had gone to the NEC with her friend Michelle Smith ('Please put her name in') and it was raining, and her mascara had run.
But as she and Michelle skulked round the exhibits, Ellis pounced.
What was her opening gambit?
Erin drops her voice an octave or two, and looks at me intensely. 'I'm not being funny or anything, but are you a model?' It's a very accurate imitation.
And what did you say?
She squeals. 'Oooooh, my goodness! No! No! Me? And then of course, as soon as I was spotted, I was right on it. Right on the belief that I did want to do it. Even if it wasn't really my own belief. It's like wow! Physical acceptance! This is unbelievable!'
Erin's rise was not stratospheric. She continued with school for a while, took the National Express up and down to London once a week before eventually packing in her A levels and moving to London full time. She didn't, however, land a lot of work. 'And we tried every avenue.' She went on endless Avon castings, but they 'didn't even want my hands'. She thought many times about giving up. 'Not because of a specific moment, because of one thing that anyone said, although obviously a lot of people said a lot of hurtful things. More because I was thinking: can I do this? Is it braver to walk away?' But she began to pick up catwalk shows, which she found easy, because of the ballet training. 'Walking in heels felt like a holiday after points.' She also found the runway empowering. 'That's where I found my freedom, and that's still where my biggest feeling is, when I'm on stage.'
Erin's big break came a couple of years after she'd started modelling in earnest. She was 20-ish, and in Brazil, with photographer David Sims and hairdresser Guido, on a Harper's Bazaar shoot. She decided to get her hair cut off.
'And that was my liberation,' she says. 'They looked at me, and they were all like this and like that, lifting my hair, and they went: Well? What do you want to do? And I sat there and said: Cut it off. And it was such a release. I found my femininity for the first time, really and truthfully and genuinely, my own version of it. It was like: Oh, here I am! It was sensational, that buzzer going up the back of my head. And then, of course, that was it.' She clicks her fingers. 'It all went crazy.'
O'Connor's appeal has endured and intensified since. Her looks are so not of-the-moment, so unprecedented and unspecific, they haven't limited her. They've made her rich. 'Am I insanely rich? Hmm. Depends who you ask.' They provoke strong reactions, either rapture or rejection, which, she thinks, helped her to detach from them a little bit, and to work out how she felt about them. And, as an added bonus, they are also improving as time goes on. 'My looks make more sense as I get older,' she says. 'My age is with me.'
Erin O'Connor's life is a good one, and she makes no apology for it. 'I would say I live half in New York and half in Claridge's. How decadent! How hysterical!' She hangs with the glossy modelling set, Sophie Dahl and Bay Garnett, etcetera and so on. 'Well, I have two sets of friends in each city, but also, and this is really nice, I have friends who travel around with me.'
Her younger sister Clare shares her new apartment with her, the prime piece of Manhattan real estate O'Connor bought relatively cheaply in the post 9/11 property crash. She's in love, with a set designer called Jack, who is shorter than her. They've been together for two years. He'll be moving into the Manhattan apartment, too, soon. 'Wow. The first time I've lived with anyone.'
There's not a lot of angst about O'Connor, although she's not unfamiliar with personal demon-slaying activities. Her long-term best friend, model Karen Elson, with whom she bonded very early on, recently wrote extensively about her (Elson's) eating disorders. 'She was always very quiet about it [when we shared a flat]. But I was there when she was writing it, in New York. For her, I think it was a relief. She's gone through all of it now. And she's all right. She is all right.'
There are ****** in O'Connor's essentially flawless persona of sweetness and ordinariness. She can overplay the grounded-girl card. And sometimes she forgets to play it all together. She says, for example, that she hoped the Channel 4 documentary might 'put across exactly what we do to lots and lots of people, especially normal people, or what I would class to be "normal" people, who don't know anything about fashion'. It's a statement that has a touch of the Liz Hurleys about it - Hurley famously referred to the non-celebrity classes as civilians, as though the famous are on the front line of life.
But although you might object a bit in theory to this kind of thing, though you might find it a touch disingenuous when someone as eloquent as O'Connor falls back on empty platitudes, you don't actually mind that much when she's in front of you, waving her gangling arms about, laughing her good, strong laugh.
[/FONT]
and
She has no desire to give up modelling, but she does do other things. She's writing. She loved the process of making This Model Life. Prime-time TV exposure has changed things, she says. She was a question on The Weakest Link and more people recognise her now. A woman came up to her recently and said: 'I saw you on telly last night looking as shagged then as you do now,' and she thought that was brilliant. Less brilliantly, the much-celebrated revelation that Erin takes the cash offered her for first-class travel, downgrades to Economy, and banks the difference, will, she thinks, limit her opportunities to pull the same trick again. 'Why did I say that?' she asks. 'What was I thinking of?'
Erin O'Connor's entire life has been directed by the way she looks. Her character has been substantially informed by it. She's entirely likeable precisely because of it, and not, as you might expect, in spite of it. How strange. But then maybe when you're forced to confront the fall-out of that face and that body every day, and required to process other people's extreme reactions towards you, it begins to make sense. And, whatever else, Erin O'Connor is truly at peace with her imperfect beauty. 'It's a relief,' she says, like it's quite the most obvious thing in the world. 'How awful to be a perfect beauty! How confusing! God. Can you imagine?'
She has no desire to give up modelling, but she does do other things. She's writing. She loved the process of making This Model Life. Prime-time TV exposure has changed things, she says. She was a question on The Weakest Link and more people recognise her now. A woman came up to her recently and said: 'I saw you on telly last night looking as shagged then as you do now,' and she thought that was brilliant. Less brilliantly, the much-celebrated revelation that Erin takes the cash offered her for first-class travel, downgrades to Economy, and banks the difference, will, she thinks, limit her opportunities to pull the same trick again. 'Why did I say that?' she asks. 'What was I thinking of?'
Erin O'Connor's entire life has been directed by the way she looks. Her character has been substantially informed by it. She's entirely likeable precisely because of it, and not, as you might expect, in spite of it. How strange. But then maybe when you're forced to confront the fall-out of that face and that body every day, and required to process other people's extreme reactions towards you, it begins to make sense. And, whatever else, Erin O'Connor is truly at peace with her imperfect beauty. 'It's a relief,' she says, like it's quite the most obvious thing in the world. 'How awful to be a perfect beauty! How confusing! God. Can you imagine?'
Sorry I have no idea!is this editorial from a recent magazine?
Photographs by indlekofer-knoepfel from http://www.indlekofer-knoepfel.ch
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those cosmo! Might use that first one as my next avatar 
Teratel
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Rie R. & Erin O.
the 2 pictures are from www.tccandler.com
the 2 pictures are from www.tccandler.com
Erin attended 'The Supper Club' After-party, looking gorgeous.
www.getty.com
www.getty.com
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lady stardust
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Teratel said:Erin O she's got charisma, it's her (big) nose
Charisma, like Amanda Moore (her nose was broken twice!)
i agree, the charisma sits in the nose, i love big broken noses like erins and amandas!!!
;
