"The glamour of it all! New York! America!" - Charlie Chaplin
Last weekend, while strolling through soho with a post-brunch carb crash, I realized that while I had previously thought three years in New York had left me jaded, I was, in fact, not. I sat on a Soho stoop, frankly too tired and full to go on, when I spotted her. The queen of the brow. The Australian beauty flaunting a small Bambi tattoo on her wrist. That’s right, Bambi Northwood-Blyth herself casually strolling hand-in-hand with her fiancé, perfect black fedora perched on her head.
I have this pattern with running into celebrities or perfectly browed models. It usually goes something like staring open-mouthed until I finally snap out of it and vigorously tap the person next to me. “It’s her. Oh my god! It’s her! Aren’t her brows perfect?” I’d say, not braking a gaze. I'm convinced that New York City is like a petting zoo of your favorite actors, although I guess petting them is slightly frowned upon.
[Photographed in the Spring Street subway station wearing a Forever 21 tee, Levis jeans, Warby Parker lenses, and a bag from Urban Outfitters]