I once had my own relationship with Donald Trump, a fleeting light-touch relationship that lasted a few months back in 2000 when we photographed his girlfriend and soon-to-be-wife Melania for a magazine I was steering at the time. Her agency had been very keen for us to shoot her, so in the end we complied, coming up with a rather kitsch and camp fashion story for her to feature in.
As befitted the heightened sexuality of the time we photographed her James Bond-style on Trump’s own private jet, lying naked on a fur rug and handcuffed to a briefcase. It sounds tacky now but was intended as a tongue-cheek takedown of corporate debauchery. Not that Trump understood that, of course; he was simply pleased to have his girlfriend photographed in his own plane in a fancy magazine.
