Fashion Icon Daphne Guinness Transforms Her Vision Into a New Album

Daphne Guinness is many things: model, artist, muse, writer, singer, and icon. Born to an aristocratic English family, she spent her early years hobnobbing with artists Salvador Dalí, David Hockney, and Andy Warhol, for whom her sister Catherine worked as a personal assistant. As the wife of Greek shipping magnate Spyros Niarchos (they divorced in 1999), Guinness lived up to the expectations of a socialite, often finding herself at the top of best-dressed lists in the ‘90s. But it wasn’t until meeting legendary magazine editor Isabella Blow that she developed her taste for the avant-garde, and became known for her alluring mystique and eccentric style.

In the pre-Pinterest early aughts, Guinness was on every fashion lover’s vision board; as a muse for designers Alexander McQueen and Karl Lagerfeld, brands and magazines saw her as an authority on daring taste; highly creative photographers like Steven Meisel and David LaChapelle collaborated with her.

Guinness’ tastes have evolved with time, without quelching her decisive ability to slice through trends and flash to construct looks with perspectives that emphasize creative joy. It’s the same principle she uses in her music. Never one to follow the mainstream, Guinness finds inspiration in classical music and opera, though her work is decidedly contemporary. Her upcoming fourth album, Sleep (her first album, Optimist in Black, was released in 2016) is a sensual and romantic record, somewhere between Goldfrapp and Klaus Nomi. The first two singles fuse elements of Britpop, techno, and new age into a catchy club track with an ethereal interlude. Ahead of the album’s release in June, Guinness opens up about the many disparate inspirations behind it.

L’OFFICIEL: What was the process of writing this album like?

DAPHNE GUINNESS: The melodies were written [during the pandemic, and] the basics were there, but I wanted to be in the studio. So we finished it in the summer of 2023, in a studio in London. There was a 34-person orchestra. It sounds extravagant, but for me, it was essential that there be real musicians—that we not resort to [using] artificial intelli- gence, to which I am totally opposed. These musicians are so talented and they were so alone during the pandemic that it was vital that they participate.

L’O: When you write a song, where do you begin?

DG: Sometimes it’s a phrase that will suggest a key, which 99 percent of the time will develop in minor mode, then modu- late on major chords, which allows me to explore several eras in the history of music.

L’O: What was the first music you liked as a child?

DG: Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, and Schubert. Then The Doors, the Stones, The Beatles. Before being seduced by the psychedelic era with a band like Strawberry Alarm Clock.

L’O: Listening to some of Sleep’s songs reminded me of the German baritone Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, who recorded what can be considered the most beautiful versions of his lieder.

DG: This is the best! When I warm up my voice, I sing arias, The Magic Flute, and then some lieder, baroque music. It makes me so happy. When your only instrument is your voice, you have to work it like a muscle.

L’O: When writing or recording, do you use visual references?

DG: Not really, but when I sing some notes, I see colors, and when I close my eyes and visualize some geometric shapes, I know I’m going in the right direction. I think I have some form of synaesthesia. When I’m facing the microphone, it’s like I’m in a dark hallway trying to find a way through a maze.

L’O: There is a spiritual dimension to the album.

DG: Writing music is the closest thing to spiritual life. We live in such a complex time that I try to get messages out.

L’O: Do you dream of music?

DG: All the time. I often wake up to write a sentence or two. Sometimes it’s gibberish, but sometimes it allows me to set a working basis.

L’O: There is a song dedicated to the writer Yukio Mishima. How did you learn about him?

DG: Between three and five years old, I had a Japanese nanny. When Mishima committed suicide in 1970, she told me about it. My father found me sitting on the stairs imitating the gesture of hara-kiri.

L’O: Does the fashion world influence your writing?

DG: I worked with Alexander McQueen and Isabella Blow, but, in a way, I was at a distance. I found that this world lacked humor, which means a lot to me.