The French philosopher Jean Baudrillard once said that Sophie Calle has the gift of making visible “the mysterious form of the existence of the other.” Here she uses a personal belonging, a Terrycloth bathrobe such as the ones you find in a hotel bathroom, and loads it through a short text with a narrative of intimacy: “I was eighteen years old. I rang the bell. He opened the door. He was wearing the same bathrobe as my father. A long white Terrycloth robe. He became my first love. For an entire year, he obeyed my request and never let me see him naked from the front. Only from the back. And so, on the morning light…, he would get up carefully turning himself away, and gently hiding inside the white bathrobe. When it was all over he left the bathrobe behind with me.”