L’heure mauve, the mauve hour, dusk’s most dangerous shade. Mystical lingerie in the half-light: ritual and reveal in equal measure.

I built the whole look to be moody, all black lace and that dangerous-dusk idea, and then she went and smiled. Hand to the cheek, that easy open grin, and suddenly the dangerous part was a joke we were both in on. I kept it. You can’t art-direct your way past a smile that good, so I just got out of its way.

The set was about as plain as it gets, a flat pale wall and not much else, which is exactly the point. Nothing to hide behind and nothing to blame. Just her, the lace, and the kind of light that makes a bare wall look like it was chosen on purpose. Ritual and reveal, sure, but mostly she was having a good time, and it shows.