Tina, Jordaanescort with adesigner's eye

Fabric swatches. Tina's bag always holds one, a scrap of silk or wool she is thinking of turning into something. Fashion design is her obsession: sketching, cutting, rethinking a collar until it sits exactly right. She sees clothes the way a chef sees ingredients, and she will quietly assess your outfit in the first five seconds. Good news, usually. She is generous with compliments when they are earned. Walk past a vintage shop with her and you will lose twenty minutes, happily.

She is twenty-six, 158 cm and athletic. Brown eyes. Long espresso brown hair. Confident, easily. Warm, genuinely. Easygoing, which means a change of plan at midnight is not a problem, just a plot twist. She is the friend who knows a tailor, a bartender and a record dealer in every part of town. Nora shares the design eye, if you ever want two opinions on your tailoring.

Evenings belong to craft cocktails. She likes bars where the bartender spends ten minutes on one glass and explains every step. She will order something with smoke, or bitters you have never heard of, and let you taste it first. Her favourite bars keep a turntable behind the counter, which should tell you everything. Record collecting fills the rest of her time: Saturday mornings in the shops tucked around Jordaan, her own neighbourhood, digging for disco and old funk, and a turntable at home she treats like a pet. Rosa knows those crates too.

Her style is classic bikini elegance in summer and sharp tailoring when the city turns cold. Clean lines, strong colour, nothing overworked, the eye of someone who sketches clothes for fun and means it. Conversation is in English, lively and full of questions. Book Tina for an evening of good drinks, good records spinning in the background and good company, with the hour from €180. The bar is her call. She has a list.

Outfit check at the door, always. Tina looks you over, straightens a collar, nods. Now the night can start. First, the vintage rails of a Jordaan shop that stays open late, where she finds the one jacket worth trying and discusses its shoulders like a surgeon. Next, a record bar west of the ring with a turntable behind the counter and a bartender who lets her choose the next disco side. Cocktails are serious here: one smoky, one bitter, a taste of each before you commit. Dinner is casual and later than planned, because a twelve-inch mix ran long. The last stop is a tiny bar near the Westerstraat with space for a dozen people and a very good speaker. She dances in the corner, easy and sure, and soon the whole bar joins her.