Supermodel Gisele Bundchen is styled by Kristen Ingersoll in Dior, Stella McCartney, Tom Ford, Reformation and more. Nino Muñoz captures Gisele in ‘The New Sexy’ for Harper’s Bazaar Australia Jan-Feb 2019.

Gisele is promoting her new book and Harper’s shares the excerpt about the rise of a serious condition of anxiety towards her life at age 23:

For 23 years, I've also been an image without a voice. I have this in common with lots of women. Haven't most of us gotten the message that our voices aren't worth hearing, whether we're being ignored in a meeting, or criticised online, or reduced to a bunch of body parts? Allowing myself to be open and vulnerable — not—her, but me, Gisele—is very scary. I won't be able to detach or hide anymore. At the same time, take it from me: nothing feels stranger than to be the object of someone else's projections. To be known but also unknown no longer feels right to me. Life is not always easy, nor is it a fairytale, and we all go through challenges, no matter who we are. By speaking up, I hope I can inspire other women to do the same, especially at a time when women need to support other women more than ever. After all, changes only come about when we are willing to stand for what we believe.

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Finally, things came to a crisis point. It was the weekend, and I was in my apartment in New York. I'd booked a massage to help me relax, aware that the muscles in my body were growing more tense every day. By now my panic attacks — that's what my doctors were calling them — had been going on for nearly six months. At the time I was living on West Eleventh Street and the West Side Highway, overlooking the river. My apartment was on the ninth floor. It was small but airy and full of light, with lots of windows and a big deck outside. But suddenly in the middle of my massage, I just couldn't be there anymore. I couldn't catch my own breath. Making some excuse, I got up, pulled my towel around myself and went outside onto the deck. It was a beautiful night. There was the water and the lights in the distance, and as much air as I needed, but I still couldn't find my breath. It felt like everything in my life was going to kill me. First it was airplanes, then elevators. Then it was tunnels and hotels and modelling studios and cars. Now it was my own apartment. Everything had become a cage, and I was the animal trapped inside, panting for air. I couldn't see a way out, and I couldn't stand another day of feeling this way. The idea swept over me then: Maybe it will be easier if I just jump. It will be all over. There's a solution. I can get out of this.