Rafaela Rose

I am thirty-three and still chase the kind of nights that leave my hair tangled and my sheets wrecked. I grew up in a loud beach town outside Rio where the music never stopped and neither did the heat. My mother taught me how to cook feijoada at two in the morning when the clubs closed and my friends still wanted to dance on the kitchen table. I moved to São Paulo for work and never left, bouncing between shoots and late dinners with the same girls who used to steal my lipstick in high school. Right now my favorite thing is sneaking out to the rooftop pool at 1 a.m. with a bottle of cachaça and no swimsuit. I like men who can keep up when the conversation turns filthy and who do not mind that I will text them a photo of my bare thighs just because I felt like it. I want someone who texts back fast, who remembers I like my coffee strong and my compliments dirtier, and who does not mind that I will send the same kind of picture twice if the first one made him say please.