LIBERTÉ, EGALITÉ, SENSUALITÉ – INTRODUCING THE FRENCH BEAUTY WE’VE FALLEN FOR.
The stunning French model-cum-actress is every bit a GQ girl.
In an age of mostly homogenised beauty, it’s inevitable to gravitate towards a form of substance. And so it is with 26-year-old Franco-americaine Camille Rowe-Pourcheresse – a double-barreled darling who enchants with no more than an oversized (vintage) tee and a cheeky It Girl grin. Why? ’Cause girl’s got swagger (as some may say). She’s cool. It’s intangible, but she wears it. And damn if she doesn’t wear it well. The rise and rise of mademoiselle Rowe reads simply: spotted sipping coffee in Paris’ Marais district, test-shoot, flown into high fashion with an almost immediate campaign for Chloé. She’s since misplaced her clothes for Terry Richardson and added ‘actress’ to her CV in the forgettable effort Notre Jour Viendra. Forgettable for the script, if not for her performance (again largely sans vêtements) opposite the brooding Vincent Cassel. We frst staked an interest in Rowe – who’s recently swapped Paris for New York – on reading an interview in which her response to the question, ‘Your favourite journey?’ was, rousingly, ‘Orgasm.’ And then we were lured into the world of her Instagram – @fngermonkey. It’s an excursion of flmic, Coppola aesthetics (Sofa over Francis), sultry nudes, party-girl aloofness and French pops of lipstick and nicotine. Hell, Jean-luc Godard would be hardpressed to fnd a more worthy, modern muse. She’s the considered, long-form reportage to the clickbait of Angels – a worthy antidote to all things fast, nipped and tucked. Take her in: eyes that change colour at every glance; soft, milky curves and a unique natural connection down the lens. Little wonder Dior came calling for its latest fragrance, ‘Poison Girl’. “Funny anecdote – Dad used to call me poison. What are the odds?” jokes Rowe. Slim. Crucially, though, this bi-lingual intersection of elegance and unfussiness prefers the good things in life – biker jackets, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, French pastries and the Bowery Hotel. “Especially the back lobby,” she says, “Where you can smoke.” Un moment – we’re just digging out that old pack of Marlboros. n