Connor
If you had told me three years ago that I would spend a Thursday morning standing under fifty-thousand-watt studio lights in a sleek Mayfair photo loft, wearing a navy-blue technical-fabric performance suit that cost more than my first three cars combined, while a French photographer shouted directions at me in rapid-fire English, I would have told you to get your head checked.
"No, no, Connor, darling! More attitude! More... vulnerability!" Jean-Paul, the lead creative director for the CC campaign, waved a pair of thin-rimmed glasses dramatically in the air. "You are not tackling a flanker! You are breathing life into high-performance luxury activewear! Give me eyes that say, 'I have conquered the pitch, and now I conquer the world'!"
I stood on the white seamless paper backdrop, my hands shoved stiffly into the tailored pockets of the CC stretch-blazer, sweating under the heavy glare of the softboxes.
