New York City, 1974. She had been in New York less than a week when Gigi and I met the free-spirited girl from Idaho.
Margaux Hemingway, a complete original, a one-off. She broke the mold, never met anyone quite like her. She brought laughter and happiness into her orbit. When she first came to town, she was so young and full of expectation, exuberantly talking all the time, punctuating sentences in that fog-horn voice of hers with silly words like “Scooby Doo” and “Wow.”
And she was drop dead beautiful… Fresh and young, and about 6 feet tall, full of energy to a fault. As Ernest Hemingway’s granddaughter, she didn’t rely on his name—she didn’t need to; she was a force unto herself.
Within a year of coming to town, she was straight away on the top of everyone’s list. Designers, especially Halston, were having her model and were throwing dresses at her as she was THE girl-around-town. I photographed Margaux off and on over the next few years, having her hair cut by trendy Paul McGregor, posing with Cary Grant and Joe Namath for Faberge, riding bikes with her father, Jack, in Ketchum, Idaho.
Truly an original… It’s such a shame she never had the chance to