ANWAR HADID HAS BITE MARKS ON HIS HAND AND WRIST. THEY LOOK LIKE STIGMATA. The dark pricks match his tattoos, which graze his knuckles, coat his arms, and crawl up his throat. Below his left eye lie three inky dots. A few days ago, his dog was hit by a car while they were on a walk. As Hadid ran him to the vet, the animal gnawed into Hadid’s skin from the pain. Hadid has no feeling in his thumb right now.

He’s different from the Anwar Hadid I see around New York City. The face of Valentino’s current fragrance campaign alongside South Sudanese-Australian model Adut Akech, Hadid peers out from bus-shelter ads and towering billboards across the city, through those same lynx eyes as his supermodel sisters Bella and Gigi Hadid. The youngest of the three, he also models for houses such as Versace and Moschino. His off-duty style — gritty, grungy, punky — is an even greater source of media fascination. It filters through his two brands, clothing line Obsidian and jewelry line Martyre, though his band, HowVanish, is perhaps the most unadulterated expression of this spirit.

It’s a still, balmy afternoon in Los Angeles when I get to Hadid’s house. I watch him float down to open the gate, lithe, in black baggy pants and a black waffle shirt with a hole on the shoulder. Everything is faded, more dusty-charcoal upon closer inspection. He greets me with a hug. Between his large wingspan and the graying billows of cotton, it’s like walking into a gentle fog.

Even inside his house, we’re surrounded by trees; through each floor-to-ceiling window, dappled light filters between the leaves. I sit on an L-shape of cushions on the floor. He sits on a beanbag with his knees hunched up, elbows perched on top. Next to us is an enormous cluster of metallic rock — cubic pyrite, also known as fool’s gold. Two magnetic orbs nestle within its crevices. I take one. He takes one. We roll them around in our hands. I ask about his dog. His name was Dexter.

“I rescued him from a shelter,” Hadid shares. “He had this thing on his chest, a number seven.”

He pulls out a photo of a small, achingly adorable black dog, with a patch of white fur in the shape of a seven on his chest. Hadid then reveals a seven tattooed behind his ear.

“I already had this tattoo. I was going through a really tough time when I found him. He came to get me back on track.”

The number seven is highly symbolic, Hadid explains. Indeed, the figure has been said to appear over 700 times in the Bible.

“That dog reminded me every day of the higher power. I knew his birth into my life had meaning. I know his death had that too.”

Hadid has been keenly aware of energy his whole life.

“When I was little, I used to think that inanimate objects had feelings. I used to collect door stoppers. I would feel bad for them that they were getting hurt. I would always throw away Skittles in pairs, because I thought they’d be lonely. I was super weird. Always sensitive.”

In my pre-interview stalking, I found images of Hadid to be quite swaggering — an imposing bad boy with a hardness in the eyes. In person, he is soft-spoken and well-mannered. He listens keenly and moves gently.

“I’m super shy in a lot of ways. … When I was little, I used to cry when people took pictures of me. I didn’t like to be in front of a camera. I didn’t like the attention. But finding music … it made me learn how to be confident in showing up as myself.”

HowVanish is a gritty alternative rock group with roots in lo-fi punk and ’90s-inspired, hard-edged guitar work. The band has spent the past year and a half writing and recording, completing two albums that they’re set to unveil live, with no backing tracks. Their new single, “Cinnamon,” is a reverb-soaked wail through a night dripping in acid.

“In my friend group, music is like a lifeline for us. I’ve had friends pass away this year. Music is beyond making worlds. Music can help you cry. Can help you feel angry, help you feel sad … You end up writing your own story.”

Throughout our conversation, Hadid is quick to acknowledge his luck. He feels thankful for his mother’s love, fortunate to make music — the guy’s been doing his gratitude exercises. But blessings aside, it seems he’s had a rocky stretch, I note.

“Yeah, I have had a bit of a hard year,” he says, laughing. He looks down at his little magnetic orb. “But it’s okay, you know? I come from a Palestinian father and a hardworking, farm-raised Dutch mother. So I’m just hard on myself to try to be better. I’m always the last one to let go. I’m the last one to give up hope.”

I turn our attention to the giant metallic formation on the floor beside us, so lustrous and large it can no longer be ignored. Beside it, another Tolkienian treasure: a pistachio-hued globe the size of a grapefruit.

“It’s calcite,” he explains of the globe. “And my sister Bella got me this,” he says of the metallic crustacean.

“My sisters grew up riding horses. They would be in the barns, and I would always be digging for stones. I told you that I liked inanimate objects. ... It’s continued.”

Hadid does not have a favorite stone (“All of them have beauty and different magical powers.”); rather, he uses a variety in his jewelry making. His brand Martyre, launched in 2019 with musician Yoni Laham, fuses quietly gothic silhouettes with faith-inspired iconography — sculpted cherubs, clasped hands, and engraved phrases such as “Every sinner dies a saint.” Today, he dons two silver rings he made. One is chunky with three stones: green kornerupine, pink sapphire, and dark-blue lapis lazuli. The other is a leaner piece, organically textured as if pulled from the earth.

Later, I look into the stones’ meanings. Kornerupine is believed to enhance creativity, alleviate stress, and foster self-compassion. Pink sapphire symbolizes emotional healing. Lapis is known as a stone of truth and wisdom. While Hadid looks away, my eyes dart to his neck, where I can finally make out the frontal jugular tattoo. The world gold, it reads.

He continues. “There’s a part of me that has no fear in a way. But also … I was raised by all girls. I could be very, I don’t want to say small, but I don’t want people to look at me. I can be very nonconfrontational.” Hadid pulls out a mangled bit of cloth, the color of pig’s skin. “I’m feeling like I want to wear my pink hat,” he mutters. He drags it over his skull, leaving his ears to stick out on either side. He looks like Dobby the elf.

We go rapid-fire. Does Hadid have a big appetite? No. He appreciates food but often retains a mindset of food as fuel. How does he recharge? Walking, sunlight, showering, fruit. Is he afraid of dying? He finds it ignorant to say no, but not generally. He has faith that things happen when they’re meant to.

“I believe in reincarnation. I also believe in heaven.” He believes many things lie beyond the human map of knowledge. Above all, he believes grieving serves a purpose.

“Grief is the other side of love. … Death is so prevalent in this world. There’s a lesson in keeping death close to you, as a remembrance. It makes you cherish this shit more.”

The sun is shining from both angles into my glass corner. It has a greenhouse effect, and I’m getting quite warm. Light bounces off the pale wood floor, casting an ethereal glow around Hadid’s face. I tell Dobby I’m getting a lot of feminine energy from him.

“For sure,” he replies, placid and matter of fact. “I have a lot of female teachers, amazing female teachers that I do spiritual practices with. Mentors that have given me a lot of female perspective. I was also raised by my mother and my two big sisters. I have five sisters total. I’m the only son.”

Sweat is beginning to prickle on my back. I press for more about his family.

“I’m very similar to my sister Gigi. We have a calmness. We can just sit for hours and not talk. We protect each other. Bella, we have a similar eye; we find beauty in the same things. My sister Alana is very politically sound. So we have that in common. My family is like the queens. They rule.”

I tell him I’m too hot to continue sitting here, and he leaps up like a coiled spring.

“Switch with me!”

He runs to get me water. I pad behind him to the kitchen, woozy and damp. Hadid has another conversation scheduled after this one, I learn. He’s meeting with a pet medium.

In my heart of hearts, I hope his friend is waiting for him on the other side.