Richard Gere’s $11M Connecticut Mansion Razed as Lulu Simon Calls Foul, Nine-Lot Build Advances
I am Jaden Patel, and in today’s episode of rich people versus real estate, Richard Gere’s former 11 million dollar New Canaan estate is now a pile of well-organized memories and reclaimed molding. Consider this your calm, cool dispatch from the land where square footage goes to meet its developer.
The bones of the story are bracingly simple. The 8,800 square foot mansion that Gere and his wife, Alejandra Silva, previously owned in Connecticut has been demolished. That is not conjecture. Reggie Young, founder of Hudson Valley House Parts, told People that his team had time to salvage architectural pieces before the structure came down, and the outlet published a photo showing the property flattened. Young said those rescued elements are now in his New Jersey warehouse, waiting for their second act as chic conversation starters.
On timing and intent, here is what the paper trail shows. Gere sold the 32 acre spread off market to developers in October 2024 for about 10.75 million dollars. Soon after, he and Silva relocated to Spain to be closer to her family. He addressed the move months earlier in Vanity Fair Spain, explaining, “Alejandra was very generous in giving me six years of living in my world, so it’s only fair that I give her at least another six years of living in hers.” Translation in deadpan: marriage math checks out.
As for the new owners, the land is being prepped for a nine property development, which is a nice way of saying one big house has become the starter kit for a cul de sac. The old estate was not exactly modest. It counted six bedrooms, seven bathrooms, three powder rooms, multiple fireplaces, and a separate 2,400 square foot guest house. Outside delivered the full catalog: a pond, a pool, and a courtyard that looked ready for precisely one string quartet. None of that survived the excavators, aside from whatever corbels, banisters, and antique bits made it to Young’s salvage trove.
The demolition arrives amid a very public scolding from singer Paul Simon’s daughter, Lulu, who grew up on the property. After Gere’s sale went through, she posted on Instagram that the actor had promised to “take care of the land” when he bought the place from her parents, then “proceeded to never actually move in and just sold it to a developer as 9 separate plots.” She opened with, “Just in case anyone was wondering if I still hate Richard Gere – I do!” and closed with a curse that would make any haunted house jealous: “I hope my dead pets buried in that backyard haunt you until you descend into a slow and unrelenting madness.” Calm, measured, and very Instagram.
The provenance matters here. Gere and Silva purchased the estate from Paul Simon and Edie Brickell in 2022 for roughly 10.8 million dollars, well below the 16.5 million Simon reportedly paid in 2002. The New York Post and People have both tracked the sales history and the teardown, while Vanity Fair Spain provided the couple’s rationale for decamping to Europe. So yes, we have the receipts, and yes, they match the rubble.
Did Gere break a binding promise or just a vibe-based understanding? That depends on a document none of us have seen. What we do know: developers own the land, demolition has happened, salvage crews did their rescue mission, and nine homes are queued up like contestants on a reality show called Extreme Subdivision. If there was a formal preservation clause, it did not stop the excavators. If it was a gentleman’s agreement, it met the same fate as those fireplaces.
For fans of celebrity real estate chess, the subplots are plentiful. There is the curious two year window in which Gere apparently never moved in. There is the price delta between Simon’s 2002 spend and the 2024 sale to developers, a reminder that market timing can be a ruthless editor. There is the booming trade in architectural salvage, now fueled by one very famous former address. And, of course, there is a daughter’s grief for a childhood home colliding with the blunt calculus of property rights.
So where does this leave us? With a nine lot plan on deck, an ex estate scattered into reclaimed showrooms, and a celebrity timeline that tracks: buy in 2022, sell in 2024, move to Spain, cue family backlash, cue bulldozers. The tea is hot, the paperwork is colder, and the excavators do not care about your nostalgia. Watch next for permit filings, site plan approvals, and whether Lulu’s commentary evolves from Instagram poetry to any formal action. If the dead pets do start haunting, I will be the first to request a follow up.
That is the house that Pretty Woman razed by proxy. Or rather the developers did. Either way, the courtyard quartet just played its last note. Let us pretend we learned something about expectations versus signatures, and check back when the first model home lists.
Sources: Celebrity Storm and People Magazine, Vanity Fair Spain, New York Post, Instagram
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