Though not academically gifted, she excelled in the arts. She describes those paparazzi photos as a source of overwhelming shame and embarrassment, and an urgent wake-up callĪs a child, Delevingne was precocious, curious, and exceptionally bright. The way that addiction took my mother from me was brutal, and it was brutal for her too.” “I just needed someone to be angry at and I was angry at her, but it wasn’t her fault…. “For a long time, I didn’t really put myself in her shoes,” Delevingne says. It is no accident that the protagonist’s mother was an alcoholic. In 2017, Cara cowrote a young adult novel, Mirror, Mirror, that was informed by the maelstrom of her teenage years.

“But life wasn’t all that easy for other reasons.” Delevingne admits she’s still grappling with the history of addiction her mother has talked openly about. “In a way, a lot of people have looked at my childhood or my family and thought, She’s spoiled, there’s nepotism, she grew up extremely privileged, which I did, don’t get me wrong,” she says. The tumultuous narrative arc of Delevingne’s interior life begins when she was a child born into a wealthy family-her father, Charles, a property developer, her socialite mother the daughter of Jocelyn Stevens, a Fleet Street executive, and Jane Sheffield, a lady-in-waiting to Princess Margaret. “I guess I’m just always ready for the ground to fall beneath my feet.” Could anything rock the foundations of this fantastical bachelorette pad? “They don’t really scare me much,” she says dryly, of earthquakes, sinking her gangly limbs into the sofa and curling up with her dogs-one a Pomeranian husky named Leo, the other a Chihuahua terrier called Alfie.

I confess I slept through it, and I’m surprised that she didn’t as well. “Did you feel the earthquake last night?” she asks, referring to the 4.2 magnitude shock waves that struck off the coast of Malibu in the early hours of the morning. Decorated with little more than a few graphic Bowie concert posters, it’s the one room where the famously kinetic British model and actor might occasionally sit still. If each room reflects a side of her personality, then this space suggests Delevingne at her most introspective. She has the gawky charm of a teenage music nerd-barefoot and dressed in an oversized vintage Prince T-shirt matched with gray marl gym shorts-and ushers me quickly past the crystal clear baby grand piano and the glowing James Turrell art installation up to the den on the first floor. When I arrive at the big blue front doors on a cloudless day in late January, Delevingne greets me with a warm hug. There’s a tented poker room draped in red velvet, a David Bowie–themed bathroom, a ball pit with circus-stripe walls, trampolines laid into the lawn. It brims with madcap furnishings, each corner appointed with her signature wit and imagination. Conceived as a playhouse for adults, Cara Delevingne’s 1940s white-brick home in Los Angeles is the stuff of design-world lore.

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