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Heidi Klum shows off busty and struts around in a low-cut leopard print dress while the microphone is adjusted for her

By Niomi Harris for Web

11:34 GMT, December 3, 2022 | Updated: 11:34 GMT, December 3, 2022

Heidi Klum certainly put on a busty show on Friday when she had her microphone attached to her leopard print dress.

The 49-year-old model took to her Instagram to film herself fooling around in her low-cut dress while her team struggled to securely attach a microphone to her outfit.

Heidi didn’t specify what she was filming at the time, although it’s likely she was filming scenes for America’s Got Talent: All Stars, which premieres next month.

Wow: Heidi Klum certainly put on a busty show on Friday as she adjusted her mic to her leopard print dress

The German-American star looked stunning in the leopard print strapless number, which features a huge bow detail at the front.

And Heidi showed plenty of cleavage in the number as she held the camera above her and looked up.

She even gave her followers a close-up as she zoomed in on her chest and continued to move her assets from side to side in the cheeky clip.

Fixed: The model, 49, took to her Instagram to film herself fooling around in her plunging dress while her team struggled to securely attach a microphone to her outfit

The talent show judges’ blonde tresses were worn in a sleek, straight style for the occasion, with Heidi highlighting her features with lots of black eyeliner and mascara.

It comes after Heidi and Leni Klum pretended to kiss again just weeks after they broke their silence about the backlash they received for posing together in lingerie while striking similar poses.

The German-American supermodel and her 18-year-old daughter were seen kissing in a picture from her latest Intimissimi campaign, released on Tuesday.

At work: Heidi didn’t reveal what she was filming at the time, although it’s likely she was filming scenes for America’s Got Talent: All Stars, which premieres next month

Stunner: The German-American star looked stunning in the leopard print strapless number, which features a huge bow detail at the front

They changed it when they wore bright red silk pajamas instead of lace underwear just a month after their controversial ad, which was described as “strange” and “disturbing”.

Leni couldn’t help but show off her curves in an Instagram post, in a crimson lacy bra and knickers as she sat in a sink brushing her teeth on Tuesday.

The model wrote in “Night routine in the new Intimissimi Christmas lingerie pieces, available now online and in all Intimissimi stores!”

Dare to bare: Heidi showed plenty of cleavage in the number as she held the camera above her and looked up

Somebody’s gotta do it: A member of Heidi’s team got close to her ample cleavage as they tried to attach a microphone to her dress

Eyeful: She even gave her followers a close-up as she zoomed in on her chest and continued to move her assets from side to side in the cheeky clip

Good times: Heidi happily fooled around while filming herself with her cell phone

In the first campaign photos, the mother-daughter duo appeared unimpressed as Heidi wrapped her arm around her eldest child and set their lips together just inches apart.

Last month, Leni addressed the backlash she received for posing in her underwear alongside mum Heidi for the Italian intimate brand.

When asked about criticism of the campaign from social media users, the teen, who recently moved to New York City from California for college, said it didn’t affect how she felt about the photoshoot.

“I honestly haven’t looked at a lot of reactions,” she admitted. “I’m happy with the campaign overall and had a fantastic day with my mum.”

United front: Heidi and Leni Klum pretended to kiss again just weeks after breaking their silence over the backlash they received for posing together in lingerie, while striking similar poses for an Intimissimi campaign published on Tuesday made

Duo: The German-American supermodel and her 18-year-old daughter were at the center of controversy last month after their racy ad, which was described as “strange” and “disturbing”.

Actor Brad William Henke, best known for his role as villain Desi Piscatella in Orange Is the New Black, died on Tuesday (29) at the age of 56. The information was passed on to the Deadline website by the family.

According to family members, the artist died in his sleep, but a cause was not disclosed.

Henke, born in 1966, began his football career with the New York Giants and later with the Denver Broncos. He played with the Colorado State team in the 1989 Super Bowl and lost the NFL title to the San Francisco 49ers.

After retiring from the sport in 1994 due to consecutive injuries, he took up the acting profession, initially motivated by a general call for a commercial seeking “great men”. Over the years, Henke has had occasional roles in shows like Medical Call and Chicago Hope.

Though he had bigger roles in Dexter and Lost, it wasn’t until Orange Is The New Black that the actor was discovered by audiences. He played a major role in the Netflix series as Officer Desi Piscatella, garnering guest appearances in 26 episodes and a SAG Award for Outstanding Ensemble Cast.

The artist also appeared in the films As Torres Gêmeas, Corações de Ferro and Fragmented.

Brad William Henke is survived by his mother, a sister and his wife.

This article originally appeared in are you coming?a newsletter about New York nightlife. Sign up here.

Art Basel party by Saint Laurent. Photo: Brock Coylar

Last night, just before midnight, I was watching Madonna looking like a non-binary alien in pigtails, combat boots, and an oversized dinner jacket over an iridescent bustier, and doing a very weird dance with a champagne flute in her right hand. Honey Dijon, her “favourite DJ in the whole world,” was DJing at an Art Basel party, and all of Madonna’s stomping and ass-shaking looked like a bird mating ritual you’d see on National Geographic. Her security did their best to beat away anyone who took pictures of her, but how could you resist? It was wild and weird, but that’s Miami.

I’d never been to Art Basel or Miami itself, but based on what people in the fashion and art world were telling me about it, I expected it to be something like Fashion Week, but bigger and weirder, maybe with Florida ability big multimillion dollar art deals going on somewhere in the background. And while I was unfamiliar with very expensive hotels and beach clubs and endless traffic jams, I apparently knew everyone here from New York. As I pulled up to my beachfront hotel on Wednesday, a member of Air Mail’s so-called “downtown set” list of New Yorkers was smoking a cigarette on the corner. I met an east villain down the road. But the weather was warm and the margaritas were flowing, so I didn’t care. The townsfolk here all seem nicer than usual, grateful to be in summer looks and living out the fantasy of hotness, money, and leisure that Miami can offer — especially when there’s an open bar and you’re on the list. Here, Uber drivers sing to you Jennifer Lopez and bartenders pull out ashtrays whenever you light up a cigarette, and at least people tell you you’re beautiful before asking to have one. “There’s no need to be nervous in Miami,” my concierge told me. “This is the only week that Miami people are nice,” countered a local.

“It’s all big publicity,” a veteran of the scene told me when I arrived, which is an apt way of describing the vibe at all the brand parties and dinners for every brand of spirits from Belvedere to Don Julio and assorted champagnes. One minute you’re walking down the street and the next you’re stumbling upon Serena Williams recording videos for a Lincoln-sponsored perfume “activation.” It was very windy so her assistant had her hands in Serena’s hair the whole time trying to fix it. “Somebody get her a hairpin, damn it,” said a bystander holding a glass of wine. “Are you an influencer? I deal with a lot of influencers,” one distracted woman asked me. I don’t, as you know, but of course there’s plenty of that here too. The night before I’d met Bryce Hall at the bar at the Edition Hotel, who for some reason had tried out an Australian accent. Outside, influencer Tinx ordered a car and attempted to leave Farfetch’s party at the Faena Hotel next door. Her friend Diplo was about a dozen yards away. In many ways, the Edition has become the center of the scene with multiple parties each night due to its size and location; It’s the kind of place where you pass Evan Mock and Kehinde Wiley in the lobby, going to different events without knowing anything about each other. The hierarchy here is who pays for their room and who doesn’t. The art collectors are paying, and the brands are paying for the celebrities to be here, and it’s clearly just a silly amount of money being spent. A fashion photographer clapped to me, “Lindsay Lohan is staying here… and she’s paying for it herself.”

A note on the doors at these Miami parties: They’re a lot messier than the ones in New York, and apparently on purpose. At Farfetch’s party, I watched security turn away a tall magazine editor and even Cuba Gooding Jr., although the party inside was surprisingly thin when I walked in. The cluster fuck outside was just for show. “It’s a bit more aggressive here,” said a publicist I met the following evening. The advice she got from a publicist who lives here? “In New York they want things to be seamless. In Miami, you just want an audience.” Another publicist called me before a party just to fill me in on the shit show: “You know how Miami is.” If you can’t come in? Well then just go to the gay club Twist (for years friends have been complaining that the super hot go-go dancers – an Art Basel tradition – are no longer at home).

Perhaps even harder than talking to the influencers, the crypto folks are here. Because despite – well, everything – there are still crypto people here. My friend even started asking people, “Are you here for Krypto or Basel?” before committing to speak to them. My most notable experience with one was at a party for Jean Paul Gaultier. He was a soft-spoken redhead named Gary, holding a laptop case and looking very out of place in the fashion-forward crowd in which Lizzo’s stylist was dancing and Ladyfag sipping a drink. “What’s your superpower?” he asked me out of nowhere, before adding flirtatious, “You have really nice energy.” Coming from something called Crypties – “like the Oscars for crypto” – he told me that he even doesn’t feel out of place because he once saw the Kardashians on TV. Anyway, as another art lover told me, it makes sense that they happened together since crypto and the art world basically work in the same way: they are asset classes traded primarily by very few people, solely on the basis of price increases.

But that’s boring. Back to Madonna. The dance took place at a party that Yves Saint Laurent threw to celebrate the 30th anniversary of her book Sex. Incidentally, the “Sex by Madonna” exhibition with photos from the pop star’s book Sex from 1992, photographed by Steven Meisel, is a lot of fun. If you’re young like me and haven’t heard of the book before, it reminds you how much she helped create our culture by pushing boundaries – so a few photos of Madonna kissing ass, masturbating in front of a mirror and hanging naked sliding bush out (Security around the exhibit is intense, consisting of two police cars and no fewer than two dozen guards in black). One artist told me it was a “cornerstone of my ideology”; another told me they’ve been obsessed with it since they saw VH1.

It was one of the glitziest parties yet (“the party that will make people jealous,” as one editor put it to me) at a lavish pop-up club on the beach — climate change aside, Miami Beach still is surprisingly wide – surrounded by palm trees and centered around a pool lit by floating candles. There the crowd struggled to ignite as the wind blew, though they looked fabulous nonetheless, dressed mostly in black because it’s Saint Laurent, after all. (One curious thing: New Yorkers here seem less stylish than around town, everyone struggling to dress like they do in Miami, wearing Pucci and bright oranges; the natives, “although they have no taste,” as a fashion person said to me, “Look good.”) It couldn’t be easier to set off the firecrackers on a three-tiered white birthday cake for Zoë Kravitz, who, upon seeing it, cupped her hands to her cheeks — Home Alone style kissed the man next to her (I couldn’t tell if it was Channing Tatum or not). It was really glamorous, although a woman slicking her hair back in the bathroom said, “It’s not glamorous. It’s just beach.”

“I want to be what she makes,” said a Chelsea gallery owner in a leopard-print tube top as she watched Madonna dance the dance. Shamelessness seems to be in the DNA of this place. Outside the door of my next party for Casablanca Paris, a striking young woman in a bright yellow corset farted, dispersing a small crowd. “Well, yes. This is Miami,” she said. Inside, I met two Afro women from Bed-Stuy, who took me on a “hot girl walk” — looping around the party to see if we could find suitors “We need to be admired,” they said, “because nothing matters here.”

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