I’ve met thousands of fans over the years. Some are loud, some are shy, some are just completely overwhelmed. But there’s always something special about the ones who try to play it cool—like they’re convincing themselves they aren’t shaking inside.

That’s exactly what I saw when she walked in.

I was at an event in London, a private dinner with a select few lucky guests. I had just finished shaking hands with a businessman when I noticed her standing at the entrance. She was holding a clutch purse, fingers gripping the edge just a little too tightly. Her eyes darted around the room before they landed on me—and that’s when it happened.

The quick inhale, the widened eyes, the way she almost took a step back but caught herself. I smiled to myself. I’d seen this reaction before, but it never got old. There’s something humbling about realizing that just your presence can make someone feel this way.

I decided to make it easy for her.

“Hey,” I said, stepping forward. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Lewis.”

She blinked. I could almost hear the gears turning in her head, trying to process the fact that I was speaking to her. Then, as if she suddenly remembered how conversations worked, she let out a small, nervous laugh.

“Yes—I mean, obviously. You’re Lewis Hamilton.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, that’s what my passport says.”

She smiled, but I could tell she was still trying to steady herself. It’s funny—people think I have this huge, intimidating aura around me. And maybe I do. But the truth is, I’m just a guy who loves racing and wants to inspire people.

“What’s your name?” I asked.