Iris Apfel
Born in New York in 1921, she first worked in interior design and later co-founded a textile company with her husband, Carl Apfel. Together, they spent decades traveling across the world searching for rare fabrics, objects, colors and craftsmanship. Their work eventually led them to restoration projects for the White House under several American presidents.
But Iris became globally recognizable much later in life. Not because she tried to become visible — but because she never tried to resemble anyone else. Oversized glasses, layered jewelry, vibrant textiles, unexpected combinations… her style was never about trends. It was a visual extension of curiosity, humor, intelligence and absolute self-acceptance.
At a moment when society often pushes women toward invisibility with age, Iris did the opposite: she expanded. She spoke openly about individuality, instinct, creativity and the danger of looking like everyone else. For her, elegance was never perfection. It was character.
Behind the play — there is precision. A deep sense of self. Not for others. For herself. She never tried to be young. She chose to be alive.
Q: What kind of femininity exists in this book?
A: Iris never tries to occupy the center of the room. And yet, little by little, the atmosphere begins revolving around her presence. Her femininity is not built through seduction, confidence or performance. It appears through the way she observes. The way she listens longer than others speak. The way silence around her never feels empty. There is restraint in her. But not coldness. Distance — but not indifference.
She belongs to the category of women who remain internally untouched by social agitation. And this creates a rare form of elegance throughout the book.
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Q: Does this book feel modern?
A: In a strange way — deeply modern and completely outside of time at once. There is no visible attempt to “perform” femininity, independence or identity. And perhaps this is exactly why the book feels contemporary. Iris exists without constantly explaining herself. Without transforming every emotion into a statement. Without needing visibility to validate her existence.
In a world saturated by performance and self-exposition, this form of quiet interiority almost feels radical. The book does not follow trends of modern sensibility. It simply remains profoundly human. And truly human books rarely age.
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Q: Is this a book about strength?
A: Yes. But not the kind of strength usually celebrated by the world. There is no domination here. No dramatic rebellion. No visible power games. The strength inside Iris is almost invisible at first sight. It appears in emotional restraint. In observation. In the ability not to dissolve completely inside relationships, expectations or social noise.
Iris carries a rare kind of inner stability. Not because she controls life — but because she remains connected to herself even when life becomes emotionally uncertain.
The book quietly suggests that true strength may have very little to do with force. And much more to do with inner coherence.
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Q: Why does this book belong to ANIMA?
A: Because Iris does not build fascination through spectacle. It creates resonance through presence.
The book understands something essential about femininity that modern culture often forgets: that depth is not always visible, that sensitivity is not weakness, that silence can carry enormous emotional intelligence.
Everything inside the novel feels inhabited rather than performed. Iris belongs to ANIMA because it reminds the reader that a woman does not need to become louder to become real.