Hailey
Two days later, I am back in the studio, trying to do another photoshoot with Riley. And unfortunately, that includes trying to get Riley to stop posing like she's taking selfies at a music festival.
She's standing in front of the camera, pouting dramatically with one hand on her hip and the other in her hair, like she's about to promote a hair vitamin.
"Riley," I call, gently but firm, "we're going for elegance, not… whatever that is."
She blinks at me, then tilts her head, still holding the pose. "Oh. I thought this was giving, like, luxury beachwear meets influencer chic?"
"It's giving… confusion," I mutter under my breath.
I step forward, showing her the stance I want. Chin slightly tilted, shoulders relaxed, eyes focused—not vacant. "Try it like this. Think power. Think quiet confidence. Less… duck lips, more depth."
She mimics me half-heartedly, then throws a wink at me. "Like this?"
I close my eyes for half a second and breathe.
Patience.
