Pulling up to Kate Moss’s Oxfordshire home a few hours outside of London, you’re welcomed by the kind of rock-and-roll-bohème vestiges you’d expect from the reigning queen of Glastonbury (20 years running). Untamed English roses grow along the stables and stone outhouses that dot the property, and there’s a silver 1970s Rolls-Royce Shadow II parked in the driveway. As I step over the threshold, I am greeted by two life-size skeletons arranged in a compromising position on the stone floor.
Moss meets me at the door in a vintage caped-and-fringed Missoni caftan, cadmium-red Venetian slippers peeking out from under the hem, before leading me from the foyer to her living room and collapsing on a squishy dust-pink sofa. Fresh from a detox retreat in Turkey, her unapologetic suntan is intensified by antique turquoise jewelry and that bright, crooked smile. She looks well—very well indeed.
“I just don’t feel the need to get trashed now,” Moss says with a glimmer of mischief when I ask what’s behind the impressive 180 from a woman who once personified the cardinal sins of today’s pious wellness establishment. Her own addition to the self-care juggernaut, Cosmoss—a six-piece collection of realistic rituals two and a half years in the making—is deeply connected to this specific setting, Moss explains: Meetings with her development team took place at her farmhouse kitchen table and were accompanied by stimulatory garden walks, picking up rosemary and bay leaves as the moss-green-and-gold packaging details were finalized.
“So many herbal teas taste like pond water,” she says in good humor, pouring Dawn, a hibiscus flower blend, into a set of Moroccan glasses. The invigorating pink tisane is delicious, with accents of anti-inflammatory nettle and a little thyme to stimulate the immune system and soothe the soul. Its bedtime counterpart, Dusk, is the intense blue of butterfly pea (“It’s the color of the sky here at about seven o’clock,” insists Moss), pepped up with a hit of fennel for digestion. “Cosmoss celebrates my vulnerabilities and strengths,” she says, at once ethereal and everywoman. “Resilience is a great word, too.”
But let’s rewind a bit: Tea alone can’t impart the kind of transcendent confidence that Moss, now 48, radiated at this year’s Met Gala, and she is the first to admit as much. “I just wanted to be grown up,” she says, of some serious life changes she’s been making over the last decade, inspired in part by her “very well-behaved, very studious” daughter, Lila, 19, who is headed to Parsons School of Design in New York this fall. Moss now does an Ashtanga flow three times a week, and hosts sound and gong baths in her living room with the lady from the local health food shop. It may sound hippy-dippy, but when she describes the therapeutic sessions—seated on cushions alongside a large Buddha sculpture placed in front of the Jamb marble fireplace—the idea of looking out at Moss’s Francis Bacon and Damien Hirst paintings as the ambient noise from singing bowls and chimes fills the room strikes me as rather calming. It’s all a far cry from the scrutiny of those early modeling years, which were spent in a Marlboro Light haze and without much thought about what it meant to be healthy. (“There was such a lack of care,” Moss recalls. “You were a child, and they’d just throw you a dirty old croissant backstage at shows.”)
Her first detox trip to Turkey 10 years ago was enlightening. “Nobody taught me that if you don’t eat vegetables you are still going to be hungry, because you’re not getting proper nutrition,” she says, confidently delivering a speedy lunch of steamed spinach, fish, and brown rice. These, and other practical skills for healthy living, were picked up at the picturesque Akra Barut resort in Antalya, where the property’s LifeCo practitioners have educated Moss on how to incorporate mindfulness into all facets of her life. Moss’s go-to program is the Master Detox, a weeklong cleanse created by London-based nutritional coach and best-selling author Amanda Hamilton: no solid food, only juices, to give the digestive system a break. On her most recent visit, Moss traveled with five girlfriends. “We were getting up at 6 a.m. to go swimming in the sea, juicing, and just getting healthy,” she says. An introduction on her 44th birthday to the body- and mind-strengthening power of yoga, courtesy of Sadie Frost’s favorite French instructor, has been equally transformative; but it is Victoria Young—the London-based homeopath introduced to Moss by the makeup artist Charlotte Tilbury and Moss’s longtime boyfriend, Nikolai von Bismarck—whose input has become central to both her daily life and her debut brand.
A mix of Transcendental Meditation and apps such as Calm and Insight Timer is now the axis of Moss’s day: “Today I wanted to be more present; yesterday, I was peace and courage,” she shares of the extra dose of inner strength required for the live-streamed testimony she had just delivered—a subtle reminder for anyone (everyone) who was watching the torrid court proceedings between Johnny Depp and Amber Heard that Moss has always been, since she was a freckled, fawn-like teen, an arbiter of authenticity. “I was glad I did it. Had to be done,” she says in a measured tone, motioning knowingly to a spartan desk, the pertinent spot where she gave her statement remotely—and from where the world became obsessed all over again with her unrivaled cheekbones, which appeared aglow, even on a Zoom screen.
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