Looking like flower baskets, candy boxes, or ballgowns, Guinness's bags—as well as her shoes, umbrellas and lilac-striped boutiques—evoke the post-WWII era, when women wore gloves and the compact was as indispensable as the Palm Pilot today. Most of her bags will hold a Palm Pilot, but barely. "You have to cull your possessions accordingly," says fan Liz Hurley.
Other enthusiasts include Catherine Zeta-Jones, Madonna—and London's Victoria & Albert Museum, which has five of her purses in its collection. "The bags are so imaginative," says actress Shiva Rose. "As for Lulu, her name and style are incredibly charming."
The fashion establishment agrees. "She's like a character out of a book," says Marie Claire fashion director Lucy Sykes of her friend Guinness, who as a teen in London combed vintage stores for the ladylike dresses she still favors. But although her bags are undeniably whimsical, Guinness, 42 and a mother of two who has struggled with depression, isn't—and she's tired of the misperception. "Every time I blow my nose," she sighs, "it's 'whimsical.'"
The daughter of banker Miles, 69, and homemaker April, 65, Guinness, born Lucinda Rivett-Carnac, tried modeling, acting and public relations before taking on what she deemed the dearth of stylish bags in the late '80s. Her husband, writer Valentine Guinness, 43, a scion of the brewing family, bought the first one—a briefcase—for £150 in 1989. "It was," he says, "the least I could do." For her luxe bags Guinness drew on memories of her mother—"gloves, the smell of powder, putting on lipstick 15 times a day," she recalls.
Working out of the basement of the family's antique-filled London home, Guinness soon found that her vision was out of step with the times. "Her thing was glamor," says Valentine. "She stuck to that through grunge, when her stuff was unfashionable."
Even now there are those who are unimpressed by her foofaraw, including older daughter Tara, 11 (daughter Maddy is 5). "I don't really like bags," says Tara. "I always lose them." Happily, hers is a minority opinion. Guinness's company nets $6 million annually from sales in boutiques in L.A., Manhattan and London and in more than 1,000 retail outlets, including Neiman Marcus and Nordstrom, where her bags fetch from $75 to $1,500.
A business built on cheerful accessories, however, belies Guinness's ongoing battle with depression. Postpartum depression struck after the births of both Tara and Maddy but went undiagnosed the first time. "I just thought I wasn't a good enough mother," Guinness recalls. "I talked to a doctor who said, 'Do you want to take your life?' I said no. He said, 'Oh, you're fine. You're hormonal.' "
But her depression continued over the next year until she had herself hospitalized. More recently she was diagnosed as bipolar and her doctor prescribed a mood stabilizer. "It was such a relief," says Guinness, adding that she no longer takes medication but sees a psychiatrist to manage her condition. "It's just something you deal with."
As for business, come spring Guinness will launch a perfume. But don't look for her to license her name on lines of bikinis or linens. She prefers to make only those things that germinate in her own mind. "Your brain is only so big," she notes, "big enough for the things you can actually hold in it." Not unlike the perfect little purse.
Allison Adato
Liz Corcoran in London and Alison Singh Gee in Los Angeles
- Contributors:
- Liz Corcoran,
- Alison Singh Gee.
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