Written by Julia Reed • Photographed by William Abranowicz • Portrait by Richard Corman • Produced By Anita Sarsidi
Minimalism is not a term often associated with Ralph Lauren, whose densely propped flagship store in Manhattan’s Rhinelander mansion has inspired legions. But when he first commissioned the late decorator Angelo Donghia to design the Fifth Avenue duplex where he and his wife, Ricky, raised their family, Lauren said he was motivated by the “simple, almost primitive desire for clean, open space.”
Now, more than 30 years later, he’s finished a renovation that has made the place even more clean and open. Three bedrooms that belonged to his now-grown children have been repurposed; spatial variety was added by incorporating steps to create different levels, making the space seem even larger. “The changes were subtle, but important,” he says. “They really modernize the apartment.” They also involved gutting it and starting over. “There was more than one moment when I asked, Oh, God, what did I do?” he says, laughing. But this wasn’t the first time. During the initial renovation, things got so fraught, he says, he “ended up going to the hospital for a day of rest.”
The original space had been a warren of rooms spread out on two floors overlooking Central Park. “It was beautiful, but not me,” the designer says. “I wanted a Fifth Avenue loft. I’m too casual to live in a stuffy apartment.” After trying to do the renovation on his own, he hired Donghia, who was known for simple lines and sensual textures and shapes, and who became one of Lauren’s closest friends.
Then, as now, the overarching feeling of the apartment was of phenomenal openness, with even more phenomenal views, augmented by predominantly white furniture and fittings. “I deal with color all the time when I’m working,” Lauren says. “This is a way I feel like I can live in New York and be comfortable and simple. When I’m at home, I need to feel like I’m floating on a cloud.” That floating feeling has been enhanced by raising the level of the living room so that you step up into it and by removing Donghia’s matchstick blinds from the windows, which wrap around the apartment and seem to bring the outdoors inside. “There’s a flow and a comfort I like better now,” he says. “It’s about the windows, and the light that comes in from the park. In the evening, with candles lit, it’s almost like an event.”
Further streamlining was achieved by replacing the original herringbone floors, which were stained a medium-brown, with darker wood in a simpler pattern. A structural beam that had been expanded by Donghia into a round, sculptural presence was taken down to its studs; the kitchen and bathrooms are now symphonies of clean lines and glossy surfaces. The tropical bamboo tones and textures that accented the white in the apartment’s previous incarnation have been supplanted by black and chrome. The banana plants that once abounded in the dining room are gone; the accessories now tend to be reflective vases full of red roses, for example, while gleaming vintage lanterns hang overhead. Both the table and the dining chairs (which have taken the place of earlier rattan-and-canvas versions) are Lauren’s own carbon-fiber pieces, inspired by the sleek race cars he drives and collects. “Like the cars, they are built for comfort and durability,” he notes.
The original space had been a warren of rooms spread out on two floors overlooking Central Park. “It was beautiful, but not me,” the designer says. “I wanted a Fifth Avenue loft. I’m too casual to live in a stuffy apartment.” After trying to do the renovation on his own, he hired Donghia, who was known for simple lines and sensual textures and shapes, and who became one of Lauren’s closest friends.
Then, as now, the overarching feeling of the apartment was of phenomenal openness, with even more phenomenal views, augmented by predominantly white furniture and fittings. “I deal with color all the time when I’m working,” Lauren says. “This is a way I feel like I can live in New York and be comfortable and simple. When I’m at home, I need to feel like I’m floating on a cloud.” That floating feeling has been enhanced by raising the level of the living room so that you step up into it and by removing Donghia’s matchstick blinds from the windows, which wrap around the apartment and seem to bring the outdoors inside. “There’s a flow and a comfort I like better now,” he says. “It’s about the windows, and the light that comes in from the park. In the evening, with candles lit, it’s almost like an event.”
Further streamlining was achieved by replacing the original herringbone floors, which were stained a medium-brown, with darker wood in a simpler pattern. A structural beam that had been expanded by Donghia into a round, sculptural presence was taken down to its studs; the kitchen and bathrooms are now symphonies of clean lines and glossy surfaces. The tropical bamboo tones and textures that accented the white in the apartment’s previous incarnation have been supplanted by black and chrome. The banana plants that once abounded in the dining room are gone; the accessories now tend to be reflective vases full of red roses, for example, while gleaming vintage lanterns hang overhead. Both the table and the dining chairs (which have taken the place of earlier rattan-and-canvas versions) are Lauren’s own carbon-fiber pieces, inspired by the sleek race cars he drives and collects. “Like the cars, they are built for comfort and durability,” he notes.
The one thing there is more of in the new space is art. “I love the architecture of the blank walls, so the art had to be personally important to me,” he says. “I’m not about status paintings—they have to be important to me or Ricky.” The Star Wars figure that now occupies the spacious entrance gallery was a Father’s Day gift from his family. “I have always liked toys—my office is filled with small toys and characters,” he says, “and we saw all the Star Wars movies with our kids.” He likes the piece—“so stark and so white and graphic”—paired with a gutsy motorcycle painting that previously resided in his office. Other artworks include a Batman painting by his nephew Greg Lauren and a Bugatti sculpture of an elephant that appealed because, he says, “I have Bugatti cars.” Another favorite piece is a figure in a top hat and tails straight out of a Ralph Lauren ad that stands guard by the living room fireplace. “It’s just a unique sort of Fred Astaire character,” he says. “Like everything else, it’s very personal. All of them have a connection to my life or point of view.”
Asked if he gazes at the heavens through one of the apartment’s two telescopes, he laughs and says he hasn’t had the time—and besides, who needs to look further than the spectacular views? His routine, he says, is to come home, have dinner, and watch TV. In the mornings he works out in his “nice playroom,” the gym located off the kitchen. “This apartment was not made for entertaining—though we certainly have entertained here,” he says. “It was made for a more private life.”
His life with Ricky and his family plays out in a number of homes: the country estate in Bedford, New York, a sort of tweedy stone house set on a beautiful piece of property; the low-slung Frank Lloyd Wright–ish complex on the beach in Long Island; the ranch out West; and the tropical fantasy of Round Hill, Jamaica. “They are all uniquely wonderful,” he tells me, but it’s his urban aerie that he finds the most soothing. “It’s exactly what we needed as an escape from our hectic lives.”
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