Architect William Sofield Gives a Glimpse into His Creatively Charged World
In a forthcoming tome, the Studio Sofield principal and founder opens up about the private firm's projects, varied inspirations, and his personal tastes
Over the past 40 years, William Sofield has gained acclaim for his distinctly indistinct style. No two projects look alike or overlap references, yet what they do share is an immediately palpable sense of refinement, depth of creative ingenuity, and ineffable attention to detail. As Studio Sofield’s principal and founder, he has overseen projects for fashion brands, including Gucci, Bottega Veneta, Tom Ford, Yves Saint Laurent, and Harry Winston; shaped the look and feel of game-changing hospitality ventures such as Soho Grand and Zero Bond and ultra-luxury skyscrapers like 111 West 57th Street; and executed extraordinary private homes for the world’s most discerning clients. With the first and only monograph of the company’s formidable output, Studio Sofield: Works (Rizzoli), debuting in October, the architect and designer opens up about the very private firm’s projects, varied inspirations, and his personal tastes.
When we started to think about the book, we said, “Let’s do 13 beautiful projects,” and then once we did that, we were like, “Well, but how do you not include a picture of Soho Grand or one of the David Barton gyms?” So in addition to the 13 chapters, we added a select chronology capturing 40 years of work, and it grew into a 650-page tome with a foreword by Tom Ford.
A reoccurring theme in my work and the book is elephants. The endpapers are from an Edo period screen showing an elephant. Cyrille André did a big aluminum sculpture for me called Sentinel, which is a huge elephant with his arms crossed, and he’s currently on loan to Zero Bond, standing guard at the front door.
Putting this book together made me realize all the fashion work we’ve done. Gucci was an epic moment, and so much came out of it. It was a pretty radical idea at the time, creating a museum-like setting. You walked into the store in Beverly Hills, for example, and the first thing you saw was a Tony Smith sculpture.
Gucci for me was a fantasy world. It was all jet-set and glamorous. The stores felt like nightclubs; we had doormen with headsets and velvet ropes. Everyone felt like a VIP, and many people actually were celebrities.
My New York office is in a Louis Sullivan–designed building, which was one of the first skyscrapers in New York. It’s known for its beautiful frieze of angels at the top, and we’re tucked under their wings. Artists and artisans come in and drop off samples of extraordinary things. It’s all lying around, and everybody gets to touch and feel it every day, so there’s a lot of cross-pollination.
Behind the desk in my office hangs an early Nancy Lorenz painting. It was bright silver, and over the years it’s tarnished. I feel it’s a perfect mirror to me. I also have this ancient Japanese screen and a little Whistler print, a Hiroshige, and pottery everywhere, including a Donald Sutherland piece. I’ve never met a pot I didn’t like. There’s also this owl sculpture—when I bought it, I didn’t know it was a Picasso, but several people have said it is.
When it comes to hotels, I’m so loyal. I’ve been going to Chateau Marmont in Los Angeles since before André Balazs bought it, when the carpet was like flypaper. In London, I’ve stayed at Claridge’s since the beginning of time. My favorite room was 201, which is now an office; it had been done in turquoise and vivid purple. In Paris, I stay at Costes; the beds are practically bigger than the rooms, but the upholstery on the walls and beds is flawless, matched perfectly at every corner.
When I dine out in New York, I go to Sartiano’s for the lasagna, and I live two steps from Emilio’s Ballato. It’s so low-key there, with just ten tables in front, and I get the spaghetti and meatballs.
I wear the same thing again and again. Most days it’s a pair of Tom Ford boots, blazer, and shirt with a pair of gray jeans from Target. Somebody joked that my wardrobe was T&T: Tom and Target.
In my closet, I still have some pieces from the Gucci days. I’ve got a pair of pony high-heeled boots with a matching coat that started out as upholstery for a sofa and chaise; there was a lot of interaction between design and fashion back then.
My apartment is one block away from my studio. When I bought it, the place kind of resembled the first-class lounge of Finnair, and I’ve now made it look like it was untouched down to rusty pipes and metal radiator covers that are evocative of big Richard Serra slabs. It’s kind of muscular.
Our house in Maine is a complete getaway. There’s only one solar panel and no real running water. You pump it out of a cistern that collects rainwater off the roof. We now have indoor plumbing and have gotten very fancy with a tub with a mahogany rim from The Water Monopoly in London.
I traveled to Morocco not long ago, and I was inspired by not having background noise—no radio or television, just the sounds of nature or complete quiet, then the call to prayer throughout the day. It’s amazing how five days of not being overstimulated can be such a reset.
Right now I’m working on a building across from The Met, 985 Fifth Avenue. It’s an opportunity to really change something that was so awful, the 1968 building that really started the landmarks movement. Also, we’re renovating the iconic Flatiron Building into residences, and it’s just spectacular to see the things we’ve been finding: menus original to the restaurant, fragments of terra-cotta, liquor bottles still full.
A version of this article first appeared in print in our 2025 Fall Issue under the headline “Style Guide” Subscribe to the magazine.