We met Ivy in the lobby; she floated over the tiles in denim bell-bottom overalls, the straps hanging below her waist to reveal a white lace top. She’s exceedingly pleasant. Her brunette roots and beach blonde strands bob happily behind her shoulders. She’s a modern throwback, young and full of carefree 60s brightness. The elevator doors slide open, we light the circle for the top floor and ascend, Ivy’s buoyant mood intoxicating our little group more with each floor we pass. She’s just returned from Miami Fashion week, followed by the Splendour in the Grass Festival in Byron Bay, and life for the 23-year-old surfer/model from Encinitas, California is a dream. “Splendour was amazing,” she tells me. “It’s like going to a big festival here, but without the stupid rave kids with pacifiers and bandanas sweating and shouldering through the crowd while you’re having a good time.”
In the suite, heavy drapes hang from the cement ceiling, offering to shut out the bustle of downtown Los Angeles. Afternoon rays illuminate a tub in the bathroom, but the golden faucet doesn’t bounce off the black water we’ve filled it with.
Ivy stands bare, next to the tub, a fox fur rug on the tiles beneath her. She is physical perfection, courtesy of genetics and surf, and bubbles with intelligence and wit, perfectly breaking the ice: “Well, now that we’re all in one room, can we agree to no nipples?” She smirks and lifts her legs over the bathtub’s brim, submerging into the dark water.
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