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Tonight, Jean Paul Gaultier hosted a private Pride celebration at Club Bohemia — an intimate dinner with The Center that spilled effortlessly into a night of dancing, mezcal, and unfiltered joy. Between the glow of Jason Naylor’s art and the pulse of Eva Voss and Rae Sada’s sets, the room felt like a living love letter to individuality. It was bold, beautiful, and wildly unapologetic. I walked out wrapped in the energy of it all — and with the Jean Paul Gaultier x Bratz piece in hand, because icons recognize icons. Always have, always will. I have loved Bratz since forever.
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Caught between takes in the middle of NYC chaos — a little coffee to fight the sleep, a lot of energy from the crowd to keep us going. Filming Marfil y Ébano with Hugo feels like stepping into a story that never stops moving, even when the cameras do. Times Square turned into our set, and somehow, it still felt just like a dream.
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Afternoon light spilled across the sidewalk, and for a moment, the city moved to my rhythm. I danced without thinking — not to perform, just to feel something real against the static of New York. In my hand, ToDa Mi VioLeNciA eS tUyA — open, dog-eared, heavy in all the right places. Carolina Yuste doesn’t just write, she bruises gently. I reading between each step, between each breath. The world didn’t slow down, but I did — just enough to let it sink in.
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dancing nyc streets away 🤍

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The city looked unreal tonight — lights stretching across the water, buildings glowing like they were holding their breath. We sat by the rocks, letting the conversation drift between real things and nothing at all. It’s always different when the moon’s out and the skyline’s listening. Some nights don’t need a plan — just a friend, a view, and the kind of quiet that feels full. We stayed until the sky dimmed, holding onto the stillness like a secret, letting the city carry it.
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✹ When you’re gone… I’ll still be Bloody Mary — unshaken, unburned, unforgettable. I’ve been raised on women who never needed saving: the ones who stared danger down, held their ground, and walked away with their own names carved into history. From silver screens to streaming queues, I carry every blade, every heartbreak, every red-lipped rebellion they ever wore. This one’s for the wild women written in fire — and the girls watching, ready to rise, no mercy left.
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