Kim Feenstra is in town. That we are dealing with a case of something special here is clear to everyone. Maybe not everyone knows her here, but when she jogs through Central Park everyone looks around. How do I know that? Ehm, from Anouk. She runs every day with a flush on her cheeks that no orgasm-blush can compete with.

I saw Kim in our courtyard. I with a bag of clean laundry (I have my friendly moments and had also done the laundry for Fred and editor Riena), she panting from her running round. No trace of makeup, the most beautiful skin tone I have ever seen and eyes that keep captivating. Model at her best.

For tonight I have a DKNY dress ready with a strong vavavoom factor. It falls to just above the ground, has a very low back and the straps are made of fishing wire making it look strapless without the side effects. Indeed, I'm talking about upper breast flaps. Not a pretty sight. We are approaching the semi-finals and I have drop-dead gorgeous Feenstra by my side so tonight it's all systems go as far as the outside is concerned.

As I walk to the room where the makeup is being done today, I do not see my familiar Claudia. Also no mirror by the way, life-threatening as will later prove. But a Japanese boy who doesn't speak English but manages to make it clear to me in broken language that he has only lived here for two months. He also says something like ‘language very bad but make-up very good.’ I surrender to his kindness and feel him busy with curling irons and hairspray. When I see a wide, golden ring that he ties around the top strand of my hair, I start to move a bit uncomfortably in my chair. When he moves glitter eyeshadow towards my eyelid, I raise an eyebrow. When producer Lienke walks into the room and tells me that the taxi is ready, I become restless. But when I look in the mirror in the elevator, I feel stress. Panic. Fear. Rarely so poorly made up. I try to banish the idea of sitting next to Anouk and Kim Feenstra later. But of course, that doesn't work.

Too much time has been wasted so we have to go to Brooklyn. Ugly makeup or not. The first thing I do when I step onto the bus is to snag some fresh makeup from Sandrine, actually the makeup artist by Anouk but we have an emergency here. Sandrine doesn't have all her makeup with her (because Anouk is already in the scaffolding and from now on she only needed to touch up) but she assures me that it will be fine.

While I try to do controlled breathing, Kim (yes, it's a star-studded bus I'm on) asks me what I didn't like about the makeup. Got a moment? The hair, that golden clip, the glitter eyeshadow, the shiny foundation… But why do you want to know that? “He did it to me too.” Kim said. He couldn't stop. I didn't want lipstick but he didn't understand that and kept applying. I thought he was a nice guy and thought; just slather it all on. In my hotel room, I wiped it all off and did it myself again.”

And that is the secret of Kim. Because you are not just a top model on the outside but certainly also on the inside.