Jean Buck

One rule has never bent: no phone in the hour before a shoot, because Jean wants her face to arrive unbothered. The other one — the rule about keeping things light between friends — bends almost nightly, usually around the time the music gets good and she texts to ask who is still out. Thirty-one, disciplined enough to be in the gym at seven after four hours of sleep, soft enough to stay on the phone until sunrise with someone she is fond of. Yoga is the apology she owes her own body; lingerie is what she wears on the evenings she has nothing to apologise for. She talks to you as if the affection were already settled and only the details were still open for debate.