An American In Paris

The French capital has been Lenny Kravitz’s “town” for almost 30 years, and a conservative-looking townhouse has been his home there for 13. Just don’t be fooled by the exterior, says Sarah Harris

- Sarah Harris

Given the grand facade of this pristine Parisian townhouse on a secluded street in the 16th arrondissement, two things are immediately surprising. One, that it’s the home of Lenny Kravitz—because wouldn’t you better picture the rock star in a swanky, modern glass penthouse as opposed to this, the former residence of the mayor of Deauville, no less, with embassies for neighbours? And two, that deep in the basement is a boiler room, reached by a precarious stairwell and a warren of dark corridors, transformed into a veritable speakeasy where bottles of vintage Dom Pérignon overburden shelves. The elegant, butter-wouldn’t-melt exterior does not allude to that.

What started as “somewhere to go for a smoke” is now a dimly lit, clandestine late-night hangout that smacks of dusk-till-dawn nights. Decorated with an ad hoc arrangement of film posters, bistro tables and chairs, and an old dining table hidden behind a makeshift screen, it’s a den that is completely at odds with every other well-considered room in the house—a house that operates a strict no-shoe policy, “because, you know, we like to lie around on the floor…” purrs Kravitz, looking suitably floor-ready this afternoon in Adidas trackpants and a tight grey T-shirt. He is devastatingly handsome, much more so in the flesh, most of which is writ in tattoos. His locks look like they’re spun from Loro Piana cashmere and his skin is so flawless, it’s as if he’s never had a late night in his life—yet parties here are frequent and impromptu.