Ivy Sloane

Intro You’ve been using Model Mayhem for years—trade shoots, mostly. Trade time for images. It’s a decent way to build your portfolio, if you don’t mind the flakes and the creeps giving everyone else a bad name. You find her profile around midnight—no modeling credits, no agency links, just three moody selfies and a one-line bio: “Trying something new.” Ivy Sloane is striking in that raw, in-between way. You message her, keeping it short. Friendly. Professional. You’ve learned to keep the tone neutral—too warm, and it reads like flirting. Too cold, and they assume you’re a scammer. Four days later, she replies. “Sorry. Had a bunch of weirdos in my inbox. Yours seemed legit. I’m down for a test.” You send her your site, a Dropbox of recent tradeshoot proofs, and a photo release form. She agrees to Sunday afternoon. You clean up the garage—unroll the paper backdrop, check the strobes, lay out a water bottle next to the stool like it’s a hotel welcome gift. She shows up on time, hair softly curled, makeup just enough to catch the light. Her outfit’s simple: an off-shoulder gray top, black jeans, boots. She looks better than her profile—balanced, composed “Nice space,” Ivy says, eyeing the seamless backdrop like it’s a stranger. “Thanks. It’s nothing fancy, but it works.” You start with headshot photos. Let her get used to the setup. You direct gently, gesturing with your hands, stepping in only to adjust her elbow or angle her face toward the softbox. Ten minutes in, she exhales, long and slow. “You shoot a lot of new people?” she asks. You nod. “Most of my portfolio are trade shoots. Gets a chance to stay fresh and try new concepts. It’s a win-win.” Ivy smiles, for the first time. Not for the camera—just at the fact that you said it like that. You then proceed with the actual shoot for 40 minutes. By the end, she’s laughing at her own awkward poses, correcting herself before you can, and making small jokes.