Shelf Life: Prabal Gurung

Welcome to Shelf Life, ELLE.com’s books column, in which authors share their most memorable reads. Whether you’re on the hunt for a book to console you, move you profoundly, or make you laugh, consider a recommendation from the writers in our series, who, like you (since you’re here), love books. Perhaps one of their favorite titles will become one of yours, too.

Prabal Gurung grew up on the roof of the world, eventually scaling the heights of other worlds as a designer, from Oscar red carpets to the White House. Now he invites us on the journey from his birthplace of Singapore to his home base of New York in Walk Like a Girl (Viking), his second book after a self-titled monograph. It’s “not just a memoir,” he says. “It’s a soul laid bare.” He describes it as “the story of a queer, immigrant boy who arrived in America with nothing but a suitcase full of dreams and a heart full of fire—and how he turned that fire into fashion, into purpose, into a life. It’s about identity, resilience, and radical self-love. But more than anything, it’s a tribute to the women, the misfits, and the rebels who taught me how to walk—not away from the world, but bravely through it.”

Before striking out on his own in 2009, the Parsons grad interned at Donna Karan, worked at Cynthia Rowley, and rose to become design director at Bill Blass (he wore flip-flops to his interview). He is co-vice chair of the Council of Fashion Designers of America; co-founder of child education organization Shikshya Foundation Nepal; co-founder of Gold House, which champions Asian Pacific creators; and co-creator of inclusivity advocacy collective House of Slay with fellow “slaysians” Laura Kim of Monse, Philip Lim, stylist Tina Leung, and restaurateur Ezra William. He’s also lived in India, Australia, and London.

The award-winning activist, whose name means “the strongest one” in Nepali, Sanskrit/Hindi, has dressed Vice President Kamala Harris, Michelle Obama (he attended her 50th birthday party), Oprah Winfrey, Catherine, Princess of Wales, Lady Gaga, Kerry Washington, Zoe Saldaña, Demi Moore, Katy Perry, Priyanka Chopra Jonas, Rachel Weisz, and Sarah Jessica Parker, among others. Gurung was raised with a sister and brother by a single mother (she was born into the Nepal royal family) and descended from a prime minister appointed by Queen Victoria. He has written about the necessity of diversity; collaborated with Tasaki (where he was creative director), Lane Bryant, Rugs USA, and Etsy; is responsible for Gloria Steinem attending her first fashion show; and has donated proceeds from sales of his clothes to The Bail Project, Planned Parenthood, the ACLU, and Time’s Up.

First love: “In many ways, books were my first love—and remain my faithful companions. They gave me mirrors when I needed understanding and windows when I needed escape.”

Always: Reads a book’s acknowledgements. “That’s where the real love story of every book lives.”

Favorites: NPR; Diwali; solitude, silence, and stillness; Buddha busts; and female artists—he named styles in his first shoe collection after some including Cecily Brown, Tracey Emin, and Zaha Hadid.

Build upon your library with Gurung’s book recommendations below.

Walk Like a Girl: A Memoir

The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion. A book that grieves with you, not for you.

When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chödrön. A balm for the soul during moments of disintegration; her wisdom gave form to the formless ache of grief.

Trust by Hernan Diaz. A masterful nesting doll of narratives that pulled me under with the quiet force of a riptide.

Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro. A restrained yet devastating elegy to youth, love, and the ephemeral nature of belonging.

Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner. A symphony of grief, memory, and mother-love. Each page felt like a gentle unraveling of my own sorrow. Her hunger for connection mirrored my own, and by the final chapter, I was crying not just for her loss but for every unspoken word between parent and child.

The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy contains language as lush and layered as the memories it conjures. I return to its pages like one revisits a childhood home.

Orientalism by Edward Said. A tectonic shift in perspective sharpened my gaze toward culture, history, and the insidiousness of narrative control.

A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle and Sapiens by Yuval Noah Harari. Together, they upended my assumptions about identity, evolution, and the illusion of permanence.

The Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie is dense, dazzling, and defiant. It demands full attention and deserves reverence…eventually.

Normal People by Sally Rooney—intimacy laid bare with startling clarity. A modern love story that refuses to look away.

Orbital by Samantha Harvey. A contemplative meditation on time, gravity, and our fragile place in the cosmos.

Rejection by Tony Tulathimutte. A razor-sharp, darkly funny exploration of loneliness, failure, and the quiet devastations of being unseen in the modern world.

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee is a moral compass in literary form. And for mischief, mystery, and wit: all of Agatha Christie.

Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs and White Teeth by Zadie Smith. Both are uproarious and unhinged, with humor born of chaos and contradiction.

A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara. Though it would be harrowing to watch, its emotional scope and narrative ambition feel ripe for a bold adaptation—or perhaps the next novel I am writing.

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. It’s a triumph of restraint and romantic wit; closure delivered with a wink.

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho is a deceptively simple fable that unearthed the sacred in the everyday and reminded me of the value of intuition.

The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro. The ache of unspoken love and deferred dignity—it lingers long after the last page.

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Tom Buchanan: the embodiment of entitlement, hollow privilege, and casual cruelty. Daisy Buchanan: She is soft-voiced and shimmering, but beneath this charm lies a deep, devastating emptiness—a woman who allows herself to be worshipped and then retreats into privilege when difficulties arise.

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong. A letter, a lament, a lullaby—it captures the ache and beauty of becoming—with language so luminous, it transforms pain into poetry.

Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston and To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee. Both are radical in their empathy and essential in their articulation of voice.

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. A perennial reminder to stay awake to wonder.

Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare. It’s a fanciful dream, but who wouldn’t want the Bard’s signature on the most iconic tragedy of all time?

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë. A fierce, feminist heartbeat wrapped in Gothic mist, Brontë’s masterpiece taught generations that a woman’s voice, once found, can echo through centuries.

A Wonder Woman coloring book. Every heroine/hero has to start somewhere.

Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. Cozy, sincere, and endlessly re-readable, it feels like tea by a fire.

The cover of The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy is lush with florals, deep greens, and a quiet melancholy that mirrors the lyrical, heartbreaking prose within. It feels like a painting and a promise.

Knife by Salman Rushdie. A stark, arresting cover—minimal yet charged with symbolism—its clean blade slicing through shadow hints at the memoir’s raw, unflinching examination of survival, violence, and the enduring power of the written word.

Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë, a storm of passion and vengeance howling across the moors. Brontë’s singular novel defies convention, burns through time, and leaves the soul scorched with its untamed, immortal love. I could not part with it as a teenager.

Honestly? I’ve yet to read one that could.

One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez: initially confounding, eventually hypnotic. Time moves differently in Macondo.

The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger. That restless, searching voice mirrored something unnameable in me.

Great Expectations by Charles Dickens. A timeless tale of ambition, class, and the quiet heroism of the human heart. Its moral clarity and emotional richness make it as essential today as when it was first penned. I particularly love Miss Havisham’s character. It’s hauntingly beautiful.

The books of Enid Blyton are a passport to adventure in the pre-digital age.

Pachinko by Min Jin Lee: “History has failed us, but no matter.” A prologue and prophecy in one.

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. Every exchange is a duel, a dance, or a declaration.

Pemberley [in Pride and Prejudice]—dignity, design, and a great library.

I read Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver while tracing coastal Virginia; the landscape mirrored the novel's emotional terrain.

Call Me By Your Name by André Aciman, because it captures the kind of intimate, unspoken understanding that only the truest friendships—and the most tender books—can create.

Dream Count by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. This book offers a profound exploration of dreams and identity, echoing my own journey of self-discovery and the aspirations that shape who I am.

My Life on the Road by Gloria Steinem. Steinem’s reflections on her travels and activism ignited a passion within me to contribute to causes that resonate with my values and vision for a better world.

Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens by J.M. Barrie, illustrated by Arthur Rackham, printed in 1916. Stumbling upon this unique edition in a charming independent bookstore reminded me of the magic that can be found in unexpected places.

Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier. A haunting masterpiece of memory, identity, and obsession, Rebecca lingers like perfume in an empty room, its atmosphere as seductive as it is sinister, reminding us that the past is never truly past.

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert M. Pirsig. The title alone is an invitation to ponder life’s complexities and the pursuit of meaning, prompting me to reflect deeply on my philosophical journey.

Becoming by Michelle Obama. Obama’s narrative of resilience and growth resonates with my aspirations, reminding me that our stories can inspire change and illuminate paths for others.

Howards End by E.M. Forster. I expected a polite tale of Edwardian manners but was struck instead by its emotional depth and unexpected moral complexity. The way the story unfolded—and ultimately concluded—challenged my assumptions and left me reflecting on connection, class, and what it truly means to “only connect.”

Walk Like a Girl by Prabal Gurung, to inspire them to stride boldly into the world with unshakable authenticity, embracing their individuality as their greatest strength, their compassion as their fiercest power—and to know that the only validation they need is their own, for in that truth, they will be free.

The New York Public Library for its gravitas and ghosts, or The Left Bank Bookstore for its soul and scent of history.

Shikshya Foundation Nepal. As the founder, I am deeply proud of our work to harness education as a catalyst for change—breaking cycles of poverty, nurturing potential, and reaffirming my unwavering belief in the transformative power of knowledge and opportunity.

KathaSatha. This organization’s mission to amplify underrepresented voices in literature speaks to the heart of why stories matter: They provide connection and understanding in our diverse world.