Céline, the Parisian Red, Paris, France

Céline walked into the library for a book. Nobody remembers which one.

Mid-twenties, born in Paris — raised between the Seine, the bookshops of the Latin Quarter and that specifically Parisian understanding that the most dangerous combinations in the world are intelligence and beauty in equal measure. Céline has both in quantities that should probably be regulated.

Photographed in the warm amber darkness of a legendary Parisian private library, floor-to-ceiling shelves of ancient leather-bound books stretching endlessly behind her, golden bokeh lights glowing like embers in the background, Céline stands with her back to the world — and somehow that is the most compelling view imaginable. Her red satin slip dress catches every flicker of warm light like liquid fire. Thin spaghetti straps. A deep open back revealing flawless skin from shoulders to waist. And that bow — that perfect, deliberate, devastating red satin bow tied precisely at the small of her back — the single most elegant detail in the room. Her short dark wavy bob with wispy bangs frames a face she turns slowly over one shoulder, green eyes finding the camera with an expression that is equal parts invitation and warning.

The books behind her contain centuries of the world’s greatest stories. Right now not one of them is worth reading.

Céline, the Parisian Red 🔴
Paris, France

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