Apparently Daphne Guinness is writing an autobiographical novel. This week's New Yorker offers a brief excerpt about climbing out of the attic in her childhood home to reach neighboring roofs:
"There were spikes to prevent exactly this sort of thing, but I was small and nimble, and not much made me afraid. Not physical things anyway, only other people — and mainly those who drank."
But more interesting is how the New Yorker's Rebecca Mead observes Guinness, who immaculately attires herself at all times without a care for comfort, but with every care for looking like an original. At a David Bowie–inspired editorial for German Vogue:
To incarnate Ziggy Stardust, she let a stylist place an enormous metallic collar around her neck; the stylist apologized for any discomfort. “Are you kidding?” Guinness replied. “Uncomfortable is the name of the game.
PRECARIOUS BEAUTY [NYer]