Carla Bruni-Sarkozy and French President Nicholas Sarkozy
Let’s play pretend. Ready? You’re a supermodel in the nineties, back
when the word actually meant something. You are truly, genuinely super,
one of fewer than ten supermodels in the world. Your peers are Cindy
Crawford, Naomi Campbell, Linda Evangelista, Claudia Schiffer,
Stephanie Seymour, Helena Christensen and Elle Macpherson.
You began modeling when you were 19 and quickly landed campaigns for
Christian Dior, Yves Saint-Laurent, Chanel and Versace. You work and
play hard with the biggest names in the fashion, film and music
industries. Life is good. You are the hotness.
You walk kilometres in tricky shoes down the catwalks of Milan, Paris,
New York and London and by the mid nineties, you’ve starred on 250
magazine covers. It’s an endless, global party and you earn $7.5
million a year for turning up.
For two decades, famous men are desperate to sleep with you. Some
succeed. Eric Clapton writes in his memoirs about falling madly in love
with you and how he begged Mick Jagger not to steal you. Mick does
anyway and is your on-off lover for years.