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I’m 35, and I still smile when the plane taxis to the runway — somewhere beyond the clouds, a new city awaits, the scent of a fresh croissant, and that familiar little thrill that anything is possible.
That’s how a world-traveling model lives — yes, runways, bags, high fashion — but between shoots, I help women face their fears as a transformation coach, teach young girls how to walk proudly and gently, and secretly scribble dreams into a red notebook.
In it are lines about a future son who smells of sunshine and caramel… about a home where old French chansons play softly in the evenings… and about a man whose presence makes me slow down, because somehow, his hand has already found mine.
He’s grown. Generous without show. Successful without chasing numbers. He sees the world on a large scale. He knows how to serve artichokes — but even more, he’s curious what hides behind the royal sparkle in my eyes when I laugh at Peter Brook’s quiet humor.
I was born in Almaty but live from a suitcase — Paris, Dubai, Budapest — and then back to the mountains for sunrise tennis and yoga scented with pine.
Height 178, weight 64 — just numbers behind discipline, and a love of rare Barolo paired with steak.
Alcohol? More a ritual than a habit.
Cigars? Occasionally, when the night smells of leather and fine wood.
I’ve never rushed into marriage — there were plenty of proposals, but I saved myself for the kind of story where love isn’t a compromise, but a force.
Where I can follow his lead — and in return, give my energy, warmth, and the ability to turn an ordinary Monday into something quietly magical.
If there’s a generous man inside you — one who builds worlds and still values the silence between two hearts while Big Ben strikes — let’s talk.
Perhaps our conversation will one day fill another page of my red notebook.
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