ELLE (Canada) - - Celebrity -

par­ents had got di­vorced, but we all want to be­lieve in the movie ver­sion of love. It was crush­ing, and it made me re­al­ize that I had to look at re­la­tion­ships re­al­is­ti­cally. You have to put that van­ity ver­sion of a re­la­tion­ship aside—that’s like play­ing dress-up. I went to a re­la­tion­ship ther­a­pist and she asked me a great ques­tion: ‘Are you look­ing for a soul­mate or a hus­band? They’re not nec­es­sar­ily the same thing. A hus­band is the guy who is solid, and you know you want to have chil­dren with him and you know he’s go­ing to be there.’ In my younger years, I was at­tracted to the more in­tense kind of re­la­tion­ships that are very drain­ing. When I was first with Rande, I thought he was so solid, but then I won­dered ‘Wait, where’s all the drama? Maybe this isn’t good. Maybe this isn’t real!’ The re­la­tion­ship ther­a­pist helped me to ap­pre­ci­ate the so­lid­ity—the foun­da­tions. I’ve been with Rande for close to 20 years, and he’s now my soul­mate. We were able to grow to­gether.” LES­SON N ˚ 4 KNOW YOUR TRUTH. In 1993, Craw­ford was pho­tographed shav­ing k. d. lang for the cover of Van­ity Fair. It fu­elled the pub­lic’s ob­ses­sion with her mar­riage and her sex­u­al­ity. In 1994, Craw­ford and Gere pub­lished an ad in The Times of Lon­don ask­ing for the press to be “re­spon­si­ble, truth­ful and kind.” “My ex-hus­band would say ‘If peo­ple call you a cow and you know you’re a gi­raffe, you’re still a gi­raffe.’ You should know your own truth, and I think you should live your truth. You’re not go­ing to change what peo­ple think.”


PUT YOUR­SELF SEC­OND (OR THIRD!). In 1998, Craw­ford mar­ried Rande Ger­ber. The cou­ple had their son, Pres­ley, in 1999 and their daugh­ter, Kaia, in 2001. “My mom was very young, and that worked out great, but for me it was great that I wasn’t a young mother. I was able to be self­ish with my time in my 20s—to try to fig­ure who I was and what I wanted. When I did fi­nally have kids, I was ready to put my­self sec­ond, or third, or fourth.... All of a sud­den, your pri­or­i­ties just change. I was ready to let some­thing else be the fo­cus.” “I think some of my big­gest fails hap­pen when I don’t take the time to re­ally lis­ten to what my kids, or my hus­band, are say­ing. You say the wrong thing, or you say it at the wrong time. Later I think ‘I could have han­dled that so much bet­ter if I had just slowed down.’ My New Year’s res­o­lu­tion ev­ery year is to say ‘no’ more of­ten to com­mit­ments. We all over-com­mit. We don’t have the time to just be.”


TRY TO). When Craw­ford was a full-time model, or later when she man­aged her busi­ness ven­tures, like Mean­ing­ful Beauty and Cindy Craw­ford Home, she says she strug­gled to have it all. LES­SON N˚7 KNOW WHEN TO SAY YES! When Craw­ford en­tered the mod­el­ling world in the ’80s, she was ex­posed to a wild party scene and OTT per­son­al­i­ties like Jan­ice Dickinson. “The first time I went to Rome when I was a model, I went to a party and Jan­ice was danc­ing on the ta­ble. I was 18 and fresh out of the corn­field and I was like ‘I’m not ready for this!’ Over the years, when­ever I’d been in­vited to Ver­sace’s place or Ar­mani’s boat, I’d say no be­cause I didn’t want the pres­sure of be­ing Cindy Craw­ford 24-7. Then about 10 years ago, some friends, whom I didn’t know very well, in­vited Rande and me to their boat in the south of France. We went and had a fan­tas­tic time. After lunch, we were danc­ing on the ta­ble! That just wasn’t who I was as a young woman. The rea­son I al­low my­self now is be­cause I know Rande has my back. Rande will tell me when it’s time to get down off the ta­ble.”

LES­SON N˚8 PHO­TOG­RA­PHY IS AN ART. It has be­come fash­ion­able—as well as po­lit­i­cal—to post #nofil­ter or #nopho­to­shop im­ages on­line.

“There’s not a sin­gle pic­ture, even an unretouched one, that hasn’t been edited. It de­pends on the light­ing; it de­pends on where the pho­tog­ra­pher puts the cam­era; it de­pends on the ex­po­sure. There’s no such thing as a real pho­to­graph. Pho­tog­ra­phy is an art; it’s about the edit­ing.” LES­SON N˚9 IT’S OKAY TO USE FIL­TERS! Whether you’re a celebrity or not, there’s a cer­tain so­cial pres­sure to post im­ages tagged #no­makeup or #lovey­ourlines. “I can have no makeup on and do a selfie in great light­ing or ugly light­ing. If I choose good light­ing, is that bad? It goes back to what is real. If some­one wants to wear makeup and that makes them feel good, fan­tas­tic. If they feel great with noth­ing on, that’s fan­tas­tic too. If some­one wants to use a fil­ter, that’s fine—I would! Even some of those peo­ple who say ‘Hey, I love my lines’ prob­a­bly took five pic­tures of them­selves and chances are they picked the one that they think looks the best. To me, that kind of edit­ing is the art. And putting on a fil­ter is an art—just like hair and makeup. Do I think that some­times re­touch­ing is abused? Yes, but if an artist paints a woman who has acne and he chooses not to show that, is that in­au­then­tic? Is that not art any­more? To me, it’s the same with pho­tog­ra­phy.” LES­SON N˚10 WHEN LIFE BLIND­SIDES YOU, SAY NOTH­ING (AT LEAST AT FIRST). Last Feb­ru­ary, a news an­chor for the U.K.’s ITV News posted what she sug­gested was an unretouched im­age of Craw­ford taken from an old shoot with Marie Claire. It be­came a vi­ral sen­sa­tion. “I felt that [the jour­nal­ist] was in­au­then­tic be­cause she acted like this was great but she didn’t check if I wanted this out or if it was a real pic­ture. Why would see­ing a bad pic­ture of me make other peo­ple feel good? I felt blind­sided. I was very con­flicted, to be hon­est. The story had run a year and a half be­fore, and the pic­ture of me in that out­fit was from the bust up. I know my body, and I know it’s not per­fect, but maybe I have a false body im­age; maybe I think I look bet­ter than I do. I think that most women are hard on them­selves. We think we look worse than we do. So I as­sumed I fell into that cat­e­gory, even though that pic­ture didn’t re­flect what I saw when I looked in the mir­ror—even in the worst dress­ing-room light­ing. We spoke to the pho­tog­ra­pher, and he was very up­set be­cause he didn’t put it out there. He said: ‘Cindy, I’m go­ing to send you the real one and it’s noth­ing like that. It’s clear that some­one ma­nip­u­lated that im­age to make what­ever was there worse.’ It was stolen and it was ma­li­cious, but there was so much pos­i­tive re­ac­tion [to the im­age]. Some­times, the im­ages that women see in mag­a­zines make them feel in­fe­rior—even though the in­ten­tion is never to make any­one feel less. So some­how see­ing a pic­ture of me was like see­ing a chink in the ar­mour. Whether it was real or not isn’t rel­e­vant, although it’s rel­e­vant to me. I don’t try to present my­self as per­fect. It put me in a tough spot: I couldn’t come out against it be­cause I’m re­ject­ing all these peo­ple who felt good about it, but I also didn’t em­brace it be­cause it wasn’t real—and even if it were real, I wouldn’t have wanted it out there. I felt re­ally ma­nip­u­lated and con­flicted, so I kept my mouth shut.” LES­SON N˚11 WHEN LIFE BLIND­SIDES YOU, FIND A TEACH­ABLE MO­MENT. “This is ex­actly the type of thing that I wouldn’t want my daugh­ter to do to an­other girl on­line. It’s so­cial bul­ly­ing. I’m a big girl and I can han­dle it, but I used it as a teach­ing les­son for my own daugh­ter be­cause my kids were like ‘Mom, you don’t look like that!’ They wanted me to go down to the beach in a swim­suit so the pa­parazzi would take a photo of me, but that would be play­ing into it. How do I rise above the sit­u­a­tion? What do I do? Go on Good Morn­ing Amer­ica and pull up my shirt and say ‘I don’t look like that’? That didn’t seem like the right re­sponse.”


“Even the times I failed were the best lessons.” n



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