Iman, like so many with a second home outside New York City, suddenly found herself upstate during the onset of the pandemic—a temporary escape into rural living that stretched on for months. The march of time was hard to ignore. “It’s a very special property because it really has these beautiful mountain views, and the sun sets every day behind those mountains,” Iman explains in a phone call from the house that she and her late husband, David Bowie, built together some eight years ago. In a way, the landscape reminds her of Tuscany, where the couple married in 1992: the supermodel bride in Hervé Léger, the rock star in Thierry Mugler. (Teddy Antolin, the hairdresser who played matchmaker for the pair years earlier, styled her cascade of curls.) But following Bowie’s death from cancer in 2016—a devastating loss the world over, but especially at home—Iman found the upstate place to be heavy with memory.
“I thought, actually, that I’d gone and processed my grief—which I did not, because I was mothering my daughter, who was still a teenager when he passed away,” Iman says, describing the embers of a deferred mourning. It took a global lockdown to root her at the house, where she witnessed for the first time the full cycle of the seasons, along with the daily cadence of the sun. “I couldn’t escape. There was nowhere to go but through the process of the grief, and the memories are what sustained me.” That, and a new project, which slowly blossomed in her mind: Love Memoir, her first-ever perfume launching today, inspired by an inarguably storybook partnership.
“I’m somebody who wears the same fragrance for years and years,” says Iman, her voice softened by gently rolled Rs. (The Mogadishu native was discovered by photographer Peter Beard in her university years in the 1970s. Shortly after moving to New York, she landed her first modeling job in 1976, a shoot with Arthur Elgort for Vogue.) Iman was faithful to Fracas for a decade, the white-floral opulence marking an invisible aura around the model, who went on to start a groundbreaking cosmetics line. After Bowie’s death, she found comfort in his vetiver, by Tom Ford. “I started only wearing that, and, of course, vetiver is in this fragrance,” Iman says of Love Memoir’s embedded allusions. (She created it in collaboration with Batallure Beauty.) The bottle’s hammered-metal top, which fits snugly in hand, is a nod to traditional African craftsmanship; the amber glass evokes a sinking sun. The scent itself—with threads of rose, bergamot, spiced vanilla—radiates gentile warmth, much like the maker herself.
For Iman, the fragrance is the closest she’ll come to writing her life story. “The memoirs that I love are the memoirs that tell all: the good, the bad, the ugly, everything. And I have no intention of writing that,” she says. But there’s joy in storytelling, as she does here—about a fruitful blind date, her final catwalk, and Bowie’s Saturday morning breakfast tradition.
Vanity Fair: I understand you and David had a chance meeting at the start?
Iman: Actually, it was a set-up—it was a blind date. How is that possible? Of all people, a hairdresser. I stopped modeling in 1989 and moved to L.A., just to distance myself from the industry and get a breather and find out what I wanted to do with the next phase. First of all, I’d been a huge fan of David’s music, way before I met him; I’d been to almost all his concerts in New York since I arrived in ’76. I had been invited to go backstage to meet David, but I never went because I always felt it’s awkward to go backstage and say what—“It was a great concert,” and that’s it? But then here I was in L.A., and he was on the Sound+Vision Tour, and I went to see him. Usually I’m not late, but somehow I got stuck in traffic and somebody was walking me through the back entrance to my seat. He was just about to go onstage and for a second we crossed each other, and he stopped and shook my hand and said, “I hope you enjoy the show.” And that was that—that was my meeting with David.
A couple of weeks later, the photographer Greg Gorman wanted to do a photo shoot with me, so he hired this hairdresser I’d never met. His name was Teddy Antolin. I had no idea that he was actually David’s hairdresser for years and toured with him. We got along well, me and the hairdresser. One day he called me and said that he was having a birthday party at a restaurant, and he would love me to come. I said, sure. I got there and there was no party—it was only four people: the hairdresser and his boyfriend and David and I.
Did it feel right at that moment?
We talked all night—I mean, throughout the dinner—but it was very comfortable. David said that it was love at first sight, but for me, I wasn’t ready for a relationship and especially such a public relationship with a rock star. No, that wasn’t in my head. What happened was that at the end of the dinner, he said he was going to go to the China Club to see this performer, and would I like to come. I said, sure. So he said, “Would you like to come in my car?” I said, “No, I have my own car. I’ll meet you guys there.”
So I drove. And I remember clearly that night what changed my mind. He was there with his bodyguard, and I wanted to go to the ladies’ room at one point. At its best, somebody might send the bodyguard with you and say, “Yeah, go escort her,” or something, right? But no, he came with me and he waited for me outside. I was like, That’s interesting—he’s such a gentleman.
I gather that he was a romantic. I remember reading about gardenias he once sent you?
Yes, I had resigned from modeling; that was it. But there was one show that I had committed to, which was Thierry Mugler’s first couture show. Before I retired, I told Thierry that I would definitely do his. So I went from L.A. to Paris to do the show, and David knew that I was going to Paris, so asked me, “Where are you staying?” And when I got there, the room was filled with gardenias.
Love really is so multisensory. You mentioned being a longtime fan of David’s music. Is there a song of his that feels a part of your relationship?
“The Wedding Song”—he wrote “The Wedding Song” for us.
Were you aware that he was writing it, or was it a surprise?
No, I was not aware at all. I mean, he was such a very sensitive, caring gentleman. Truly, truly—paying attention to every detail. He listens to you very intensely and clearly and remembers. When he proposed in Paris, he was performing at the Olympia. He was singing “April in Paris,” and he changed it to “August in Paris” because he was going to propose the next night. So all these memories were what made it difficult for me to stay in this house, but it just changed; the memories are what saved me.
Is there a household sound or smell that you associate with him?
When he just started to paint, I could hear it, the process in his head—but also the constant pot of coffee. I only drink one cup of coffee in the morning and that’s it. If I drink one at 11, I can’t sleep the rest of the night. He can have an espresso after dinner and go to sleep! I don’t know how. So I sometimes have a pot of coffee on, just for the hell of it so that I can smell it.
Fragrance is definitely very personal. The vetiver that I’ve been wearing for the past five years is because of David—it reminds me of David and I want it closer to my skin. I think that I couldn’t have created anything more personal than a fragrance as a tribute. The vetiver, balanced with bergamot and blackcurrant, which are a little bit deeper than the rose and vanilla—it’s masculine and feminine. It also reminds me of the travels. Capri was the first trip we went on together after we met. Then also David loved, loved Bali. The scents, the fauna, the flora—there’s nothing he did not love about Bali. Our honeymoon was three months long. One and a half of it was just in Bali.
You both had these public personas but also this very cherished private life. What was your way of reconnecting as a couple?
Actually, we ate dinner at home every night unless we had a heavy commitment. David was pleasantly surprised that I was so domestic—to the point that, living in New York, when I’d say to him, “Shall we order tonight?” he would say, “You’re not cooking?” [laughs] So that was definitely the reconnect: It was always dinner together.
What were the smells in the air? What are the dishes in your repertoire?
I’m lucky enough to be one of those people that I can read a recipe and cook it. But two things have been consistent: roast chicken for Sunday dinners, and then Saturday mornings, he loved an English breakfast. English breakfast is heavy! [laughs] It is bacon, sausage, runny eggs, the whole lot. So that’s what he got.
You talked about the sunsets at the country place; did you have a sunrise ritual between the two of you, whether in Manhattan or elsewhere?
Funny enough, we had an apartment in the city, and we never saw a sunset there. But every day we had a sunrise. We had a bedroom that had a deck, so there was always the sunrise.
This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.
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