One Night With Daria

It seems that all you need to do to spend one night with Daria Werbowy is buy the July 10th issue of Elle France. She gives another interview, and this time strays away from the omnipresent lemon tip ... I think ... I'm too tired to read the whole thing.

Elle France July 10th 2009

Translation:

I live in a loft in the Lower East Side of New York with my companion, Kenny, and my cat. I spend my evenings with my friends. Some are musicians, photographers, and models. I like it when they randomly show up at the house. At 9 o'clock, usually, everyone crowds in front of my specialty: a crunchy roasted chicken and cooked by my great one "english stove", a state-of-the-art range. This is the only thing that is really modern at my place. The remainder of my house is very old. 

I am kind to all guard: I have again my crumple high school (?). One listens Neil Young and Cat Power, one plays the guitar, one does on the part of poker. The first time that I bet, I all swiped! At 11 o'clock, if they decide to go out to party, I do not take three hours to get ready. I would have too the impression slave over (?). I slip on a tank top or a James Perce t-shirt, a jean skirt, a Perfecto and my Spartan ones. I leave my hair down, I put a little eye-liner on, some red lipstick, that’s all! Next, we have an evening beer at the bar Warren 77, or TriBeCa, or we have a more intimate evening at Bacaro, an Italian restaurant on Division Street. A candlelit dinner in a medieval crypt, mood catacombs… me, that gives me shivers. 

But the craziest night was in Ireland last winter. My best girlfriend lives over there. We rode bikes to different pubs. At the end of the night, I was so drunk that I fell. The rain fell like buckets. Once it was dawn, we were soaked, with mud up to our ears. I was not very proud. Around 2 o'clock, I have only a short time to sleep. The sleepless nights because of the jet-lag, the difficult awakenings in rotten locations has tens of girls apprenties models overexcited, I already gave (?). 

I was 14 years old when I signed my first contract with IMG New York. I went to castings in Paris, London and Milan with my book under my arm. I walked thirty runways a season, I slept three hours at night. I dozed on the floor backstage or I collapsed, huddled on an airplane seat. Fortunately, Marc Jacobs spotted me and, in 2003, I was chosen to be the model of the Prada campaign. That was the trigger. That and the cover of Italian Vogue. Today, at 25 years old, they mother me more, I get to choose now. I do less runways, I do more of shootings for the press or for advertisings. 

I read, I go to the movies, I sail a lot. Last summer, I did the crossing New-York-Barcelone, with stops, in fifteen days. I dream of sailing the world by myself. The problem is that, once I go to bed, I do not stop thinking. I am borderline insomniac. I have tried everything, even taking red, green, blue pills… suddenly, I sit down in front of a re-run of "Dr House" or I devour stories of vampires like "Twilight", by Stephenie Meyer. I like what is a little "scary". The idea came to me to take advantage of my sleepless nights to leave by car, in the early morning, in the direction of Toronto. I am able to drive eight hours to see my family. 

I was born to Krakow, in Poland. My four grandparents live over there and I return often, but my country is Canada. This is where I grew up, where I did my studies. I remember myself again at 4 years old, on the tarmac of the airport of Toronto, squeezing in my arms my father for the first time. He had left Poland before my birth to look for work. With my sister, Oksana, and my brother, Orest, we sail on the lake Ontario, we skis until they throw us outside when the tracks close at 9 o'clock. One squabbles oneself as kids and, there, I am said that my childhood is not so far(?).