Record collecting teaches patience, discernment and the joy of the find, and Tina applies all three well beyond the crates. She is twenty six, a compact 158 cm, athletic, with long espresso brown hair and brown eyes, and she treats her own life like a collection curated slowly: good pieces only, no filler, everything earning its place. Evenings with her feel selected rather than scheduled. Nothing in her flat is there by accident, and neither is anything in her week.
Fashion is the craft she practises with her hands. She designs and alters her own pieces, favours classic lines over trends, and can rebuild your opinion of tailoring in one drink. She trades sketches with Nora across the canal ring, a running exchange both of them pretend is casual. The cocktails are the third pillar, studied properly, and her ongoing recipe correspondence with Molly in De Pijp has produced at least two drinks worth naming. Ask for the amaro story.
Underneath the taste is an easygoing confidence that makes her remarkably low-effort company. She arrives sure of herself and curious about you, a combination that skips the small talk's worst hour entirely. Vinyl finds their way into conversation, and her crate-digging rivalry with Rosa remains friendly only because their genres barely overlap.
Tina is settled in the Jordaan, strolling distance from the nine streets and quick to any central hotel, with an hour's notice usually comfortable. Arrangements happen in one short WhatsApp exchange and are stored in exactly zero places afterwards, the way this house does everything. The only pressing she believes in is vinyl, and the only copy of your evening is yours. Guests with an ear for a good record should say so; she has been known to arrive with one.
