We can see the eyerolls from way across the internets already with this one. Yes, yes, we know. We’re perfectly aware that every publication in existence has already discussed how lemon-loving and perpetually bedridden Real Housewives of Beverly Hills stalwart Yolanda Hadid (previously known as Yolanda Foster) sold her mammoth Malibu mansion for a blistering $19,495,000. The sale happened way, way back in October (2015).
And we’re also completely aware that we’re not the first to unmask the mysterious buyers. That prize goes to our BFF Your Mama over at Variety.
But give Yolanda a damn break. We can add a few new interesting tidbits here and there regarding this transaction. And the house isn’t just your typical mock-med architectural tragedy, it’s actually quite photogenic. (Mostly.) Certainly it won’t hurt you to take a gander at the pics one last time. And plus, Ms. Hadid is Yolanda’s namesake! Come on now. At least have the courtesy to listen while Sister Yakketyyak schools you, even if you already know all the equations.
In June 2007, our Ms. Hadid – a former model and the ex-wife of wildly wealthy real estate developer and Bel Air troublemaker Mohamed Hadid – paid $4,500,000 for a 3.25 acre vacant parcel that towers directly above Carbon Beach and the endlessly-trafficky parking lot that is Pacific Coast Highway.
Ms. Hadid – in a relationship with multi-Grammy award winner David Foster since 2006 – quickly commenced construction of a hilltop villa that property records show clocks in at 11,622 square feet of interior space with 6 bedrooms and 9 bathrooms. Yolanda has no idea exactly how much this 2009-completed mansion cost to build, but doubtless it was a very considerable sum of money.
We discovered documentation which reveals that Mr. Foster – the sly scoundrel – somehow managed to get his name attached to the property, though we don’t believe he had a financial hand in the original land purchase or house construction. For what it’s worth, Mr. Foster and Ms. Hadid were married in an over-the-top and celeb-infested 2011 ceremony.
In September 2013, whispers began to seep out of everyone’s favorite scenic beach town that the then-still-coupled couple wanted to sell and had even put the palace up as a pocket listing with a stupefying $27,500,000 pricetag. A few months later, with no luck off-market, the property officially hit the MLS with the same $27.5 million ask. The price eventually fell to $23,500,000 before the property was rather rudely yanked off the MLS in 2015.
However, as you know, property records show the house indeed transferred last October (2015) for $19,495,000. The buyer is listed as an unimaginatively-named shell company that links to a Washington (D.C.) law firm. But of course, Your Mama at Variety and your gurl Yolanda are both keenly aware that the new owners are 53-year-old multi-billionaire Robert F. Smith and his wife, 31-year-old former Playboy playmate Hope Dworacyzk. That’s a fact.
Mr. Smith is, with a net worth of $2.5 billion, the second-richest African-American in the whole wham-bang universe (according to Forbes he’s closing in on Oprah). This guy has major dough. He could probably afford any house in LA his (or his wife’s) heart desired. So without further blabbing, let’s check out Ms. Hadid’s house to see what enticed this jet-setting couple to throw down the big bucks.
The property is accessed by passing through through an ornate front gate and guiding one’s luxury automobile up a dramatically long and wide driveway that plateaus at the front door of the hilltop residence. There’s a three-car garage and a sizable motor court.
Honestly, y’all, we think the front area might be our least-favorite aspect of the residence. The boring row of garages and the lackluster facade just bores your gurl to death. Good thing stuff improves once you move indoors – and out the back.
The sumptuous kitchen has an eye-pleasing if somewhat stark color palette of whites, blacks, and stainless greys. There are extra-wide plank recycled Bavarian floors, marble countertops, and all the ultra-high-end appliances money can buy. And let’s not forget that world-famous fridge. We’ll expound on that sexy beast in a moment.
The master bedroom sports a portrait of a naked Ms. Hadid squatting down with her booty cheeks to the camera. We wonder if that was thrown in with the house as part of the sale? Hmmm!
Yolanda H.’s closet makes Yolanda Y. swooooooon with its endless shelf and glass-fronted wardrobe space. We count at least 8 Birkin bags (starting price: $12,000) on the shelves. That’s approximately $100,000 (minimum) just with those handful of bags alone. We wonder if the value of Ms. Hadid’s entire clothing and accessory collection as seen above tops $1,000,000. No, we wouldn’t be the least bit surprised.
There’s also a manly-man’s walk-in closet, a big ol’ library with a big ol’ fireplace, a massive sports bar/recreation room with Mr. Foster’s 16 Grammys adorning the wall (definitely not included with sale), and a light-flooded gym.
Let’s not forget that acre+ of the cleanse-crazed Ms. Hadid’s lemon and other assorted fruit trees. But the main selling point of this estate is, of course, the dynamite view.
So we can certainly see why Mr. & Mrs. Smith fell in love with this place – but there are just a couple drawbacks we’d like to point out. First of all, this house has no direct beach access. To get to the sand, you’ve got to dash across Pacific Coast Highway, and good luck with that. And even if you somehow make it across in one piece, the nearest public access point is something like a punishing half-mile away. So really, what you’re gonna end up doing every time you want to actually play in the sand is hop in your hoopdie and drive to some congested pay-for-parking lot somewhere amidst the throngs of poors.
The other (possible) drawback is that this house is fire station-adjacent. That’s right, kids, there’s a damn fire station right across from this house. That may be a plus in this occasionally brushfire-prone beach town, but it also means lots of sirens. Major noise pollution! Say it ain’t so.
Does all that matter? Your call. Yolanda would hope that a $20 million house in Malibu would at least have some sort of easy access to the surf, but she’s not a big fan of Malibu beaches anyway so the pool and view are fine with her. And we don’t mind the fire station so much – the sirens could get annoying but looking at all the cute young fellas in their tight uniforms sure wouldn’t. Oh dear! Teehee.
Mr. Smith, who manages one of the world’s best-performing hedge funds (Vista Equity Partners), recently made news when he donated $50 million to Cornell University (his alma mater).
Mrs. Smith (she took her husband’s last name upon their marriage) is a former runway model turned Playboy’s Playmate of the Year 2010. In 2011, Mrs. Smith also proved she’s got brains to go with her sick bod when she won over $200,000 for charity on Donald Trump’s Celebrity Apprentice.
Prior to her marriage, Mrs. Smith was romantically involved with NBA bigwig Jason Kidd and later, comic Bob Saget. Then she met Mr. Smith, popped a couple babies, and, well, the rest is history. We’re not sure how one goes from a rough-and-tumble domestic abuser like Mr. Kidd to funnyman Mr. Saget to a straight-laced MBA-carrying billionaire banker like Mr. Smith, but apparently Mrs. Smith has eclectic taste in men. Fair enough. Your chick Yolanda Y. feels you on that, gurl.
Mr. & Mrs. Smith were married last July (2015) in a baller-style ceremony held on Italy’s Amalfi Coast. Wedding singers included John Legend and Seal. Mrs. Smith wore not one but three different wedding gowns throughout the night. Ain’t that just peachy? When you’re as sick-rich as Mrs. Smith is, you don’t even have to choose between your favorite gowns. Love all three? Buy all three. Hell yes.
Yolanda Y. has heard the couple want their kids (they’ve got two small children) to grow up in LA, so they’ve already moved into and are living essentially full-time at Ms. Hadid’s old house.
Let’s move on. Yolanda confesses she’s not quite sure where Mr. Foster has decamped (she also confesses she doesn’t much care, oopsie), but Ms. Hadid has already purchased an attractive bachelorette crib on the 16th floor of a fancy-pants Wilshire Corridor 24-story high-rise known as The Carlyle Residences.
Luxury features include automatically retractable window shades, floor-to-ceiling windows guaranteed to wow even the most bitterly jaded Munchausen-mentioning broads, marble-slathered bathrooms, and a couple scary-looking wraparound terraces that provide glorious if vertigo-inducing views of the entirety of Los Angeles, more or less.
Property records reveal Ms. Hadid forked over $4,590,000 for the 3-bedroom, 3.5-bath high-floor pad. She’s also saddled with $3,070 in monthly HOA fees that go toward the swanky building’s many sumptuous features. These include valet parking for the condo’s three deeded parking spaces, 24/7 security and concierge, pool, gym, lounge, and even a wine cellar. Mazel tov on your new house in the sky, Ms. Hadid.
We can’t close this chapter without bidding a fond (and hopefully temporary) farewell to the world’s most famous refrigerator. What other kitchen appliance do you know that has over 26,000 followers on Twitter and Instagram combined? If the marble-lined walk-in chill box isn’t front and center on your dream kitchen wish list, we probably wouldn’t like you in real life. So there!
And finally, before we go (for real this time), we’ve got a message for Mrs. Smith. Honey, you won life. You got the man, the money, and the Malibu mansion. Good on you. You killed that ol’ bullshit. Now how about you do one small favor for your homegurl Yolanda Yakketyyak? It’s really not much. All we want is for you to join the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. You’re damn perfect for the show. Andy, baby, are you listening? We’ll even waive our finders’ fee on this. Seeing our beloved fridge again? That’s reward enough.
We’re serious ’bout this, Mrs. Smith. Pick up the phone. Start practicing your shade-throwing skills. Don’t make Yolanda Y. march on over and show you what’s what. We want our Mr. Fridge back and we won’t stop ’til he’s within us – er, within our TV screens – once more. Return, sweet fridge. Won’t you return our love…
