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There is a particular kind of attention we give ourselves in private—unstructured, unguarded, often fleeting.

It happens in passing, in the mirror, in the small arrangements of objects that gather around a sink or bedside. These moments, so easily dismissed, tend to reveal more than we expect.

With Tender Vanity, we begin a series of conversations with women whose ways of seeing—of themselves, of others—feel both intimate and expansive. Jenna Saraco, a New York–based photographer, art director, and visual artist, brings a sensibility shaped by closeness and careful looking. Her work—spanning fashion, interiors, and ongoing collaborations with brands such as Rachel Comey, Emily Dawn Long, and Ulla Johnson—moves with a certain attentiveness, where images are built through trust, proximity, and an understanding that meaning often resides in the smallest details.

It is perhaps no surprise, then, that her relationship to reflection—literal and otherwise—has sharpened in recent months. Since becoming a mother, the act of looking has taken on new dimensions, both more immediate and more elusive.

A two-up spread from Jenna's portfolio of work, which you can explore here.

What is your relationship with mirrors and your reflection as you experience it now?

Lately, it feels entirely literal. Since becoming pregnant and giving birth to my son, I’ve witnessed myself undergo a metamorphosis that only a mirror can reveal. My heightened awareness of them feels like an acute symptom of the self-consciousness that comes when a body is changing and aging in real time. And yet, other times, I do my best to ignore them entirely.

In what ways has growing older expanded your sense of self?

Of course it’s a cliché to say, but the older I get, the more confident, comfortable, and familiar I feel with myself. Growing older has revealed that there is less of a singular “self” and far more in the way of a universal feeling that exists beyond myself or any one person.

"I like to read memoirs and listen to podcasts of older women in creative fields, and I’ve come to learn that living a long and full life is the greatest privilege of all."

What does your vanity look like on most days?

Most days, it’s messy—and I think that’s fitting. My vanity reflects how I feel on the inside: layered, a little scattered, and honest. In many ways, it is a truer reflection than the mirror itself.

From the women in your life, what advice or ways of seeing have you inherited that have helped you move gracefully through life?

I have always found the oldest women in my life to be the most beautiful. There is a quality in them—a deep recognition of themselves that I find graceful and radiant. I’ve been fortunate to have a grandmother and a mother who both understood the value of creativity, who nurtured it through an active art practice, and whose example I hope to carry with me throughout my own life.

Your work explores intimacy and sensitivity; how does that translate to your personal space and routines?

Intimacy and sensitivity are how I feel when I’m making images—it’s my natural approach, whether the subject is a person or an object. I want to understand how something translates through another person, another thing. It is partly bringing someone into my world, but also them letting me into theirs. That back-and-forth is what allows me to explore different subjects.

Many of your subjects are photographed in close proximity, almost abstracting them. What about this way of looking interests you?

Maybe the fragmented view allows for more resonance. It makes the image more universal, allowing the viewer to feel not only the intimacy of the closeness, or the vagueness of a memory, but the act of being human. Again, so cliché—but the older I get, the more these clichés reveal themselves as quiet truths.

"I have always found the oldest women in my life to be the most beautiful. There is a quality in them—a deep recognition of themselves that I find graceful and radiant."

Tender Vanity is an ongoing series of conversations—an exploration of how women see themselves, and are seen, over time. Through these exchanges, we consider the small, often overlooked spaces where identity gathers: in reflection, in routine, in the objects we return to, and in the ways we continue to look, and look again.

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