We all know people who are ridiculously famous, and it's a scary thing because all of the sudden people - even the people you are close to - stop being honest with you, stop telling you the truth.

One girl came up to me - I remember it so vividly - she said, "You're not fit to model socks." It crushed me. But at the same time, it made me unbelievably determined to prove everybody wrong and prove to myself that I could live an incredible life.

A movie's a movie - you know I'm a massive old film buff - but it's still something to me, music: I can still close my eyes like I was when I was a teenager, and it can still make me weep or make me angry or make me, even if it's bad music, crack up.

I just love vintage. I have far too many vintage dresses.

As a model I had a lot of success when I was 17 and 18 years old. It was before social media, before the world was what the world is, but even then it was terrifying, to be 18 years old and people knowing who you are, and I was this personality who was completely devoid of who I actually was. It was almost like being a manufactured boy band. You're sort of like a wind up doll; they wind you up and put you on the runway or something like that.

I like feeling a bit of an outcast where I am. I've always been that way. Somehow, I fit in by not fitting in.

As a model, I am at the mercy of everybody else. It's much more of a situation where I go to work, put the clothes on, get in front of the camera, and then go home. But in that process, I never really have control over any of it. So, putting out a record, it's such a brilliant opportunity to be in control of things. It's my world, my music, and I can put it out there in a way that is meaningful to me.