soraya adler
MIS
C
HIEF
with manners
Here’s the thing about
pages like this one.
I’m supposed to tell you I move through the world with effortless elegance. That I’m mysterious, sensual, impossibly well-traveled. That you’re a discerning man with exquisite taste, and I’m the woman who knows what you need before you say it out loud.
You’ve read that page
before.
So have I.
I’m not going to write it. Mostly because I’d be bored, and if I’m bored writing it you’ll be bored reading it, and we’ll have wasted each other’s time before we’ve even met. I swore off being bored a long time ago.
RAYA
I once lit my hair on fire trying to be sexy. Fortunately, my storytelling abilities suffered no lasting damage, so ask me about it when we meet.
Once upon a time, I trained as a dancer at a conservatoire, where I read Merleau-Ponty, wandered the Tate, choreographed a tap piece in binary code, and learned to take myself very seriously. Then I moved to New York, became an artist, and learned to take myself not seriously at all.
These days you’ll usually find me hunting down quiet hidden cocktail bars with terrible lighting and ingredients I can’t pronounce, enthusiastically saving brilliant ideas into my Notes app at two in the morning (never to be opened again), or disappearing into a museum for far longer than intended.
O
S
HI, I'M
(pronounced soh-RYE-uh)
Now I'll shut up.
I hope by now you have enough of a picture of me to feel comfortable introducing me to both versions of you: The Polished Professional, and The French Fry Thief (don’t you even try).
I’d love to coax that version of you out with curiosity, laughter, wonderfully unscripted moments, and
just enough mischief.
A CABINET OF
of curiosities and desire
If you were hoping for the page that explains me completely, I’m afraid I save those for in person. Perhaps over a glass of scotch and a steak cooked properly. Bonus points if you’ll teach me something about wine.
What time with me
feels like
I don’t want to live by a checklist, and I suspect you’re tired of yours.
So time with me runs on a different clock.
A dinner where no one has to be entertained, no client to impress, no deal to land, no performance to keep up. A few hours where you get to be a person instead of a role.
This isn’t a Zoom call. You don’t have to wonder whether the mic is still on, or who just heard what you really think about the new proposal.
time that feels
rather than squeezed in.
chosen
WHAT I OFFER
Sensuality without drama, intimacy without complication, and
I’m not interested in the version of you that gives keynote speeches.
I want the version of you on a beach in Miami.
The one who’s been ignoring his phone for four hours, enjoying nothing but ocean and salt in the air. Your mind isn’t on the next task; it’s on the dirty French I whispered in your ear last night. The sun on your face, your drink in your hand, the book you’ve been meaning to read open on your lap. The hardest decision of the day is booking the Japanese tasting menu or the little pasta place.
But right now you’re too busy watching me smirk at you from the water, trying to coax you in.