Teri Benjamin

Every mirror gets a two-second glance on the way past: strap, hem, posture, the glint at her navel, then gone. Not vanity, a check. It is the habit of someone photographed often enough to stop performing for lenses and start performing for herself. Teri sketches a costume before she sews it, keeps her gym hours like appointments because the silhouette is the whole point, and arrives at a convention as a character she has lived inside for six weeks. Between shoots she wears the same yoga set three days running, drawing hands she still cannot get right. You will have known her four minutes and already be somewhere unexpectedly honest. She talks to strangers the way most people only talk at two in the morning: curious, unfiltered, in no hurry at all.