Barry, Diane, and the Myth of the Open Marriage

Barry Diller has always seemed like the man behind the curtain—pulling strings at Paramount, spinning digital fortunes at IAC, married to Diane von Furstenberg like a tasteful footnote in his public résumé. But in his new memoir, he’s stepped forward, parted the curtain, and given us a glimpse not of scandal—but of something far stranger: candor, dressed in cashmere.

He calls it a “truly unconventional marriage,” a phrase that sits in the mouth like a secret half-told. Diller’s portrayal of his union with DVF is less about infidelity and more about intellectual fidelity. “Ours was a love that didn’t require ownership,” he writes. But don’t mistake that for freedom. It reads more like a slow-burning contract between two titans who understood power not as something to share, but to orbit.

Love as a Game for the Very Rich

It’s tempting to romanticize them—he the mogul, she the muse-turned-multimillionaire. But the real allure is in their calculation. This wasn’t some whimsical European arrangement. It was—if Diller is to be believed—an intentional, cerebral, almost businesslike understanding of what a bond could be when neither party needed the other, yet still chose each other, again and again, across decades and dalliances.

There is something uncomfortably precise about how Diller discusses Diane. Not with affection, necessarily, but admiration. Like someone assessing a priceless sculpture—unattainable, unpossessable, but worthy of reverence. “She’s more of a force than a person,” he muses in passing. It’s the kind of line that tells you everything you need to know about their dynamic—and nothing you can trust.

We like our romances messy, full of passion, scandal, betrayal. But what do we do with a relationship that thrives on clarity and negotiation? What does it mean to love someone not with your heart, but with your strategy?

The Elegance of Omission

There are, of course, names left out. Questions unasked. One wonders if this memoir is less confession and more curation—a calculated release of just enough intrigue to remind us that the richest lives are still the most private. Even as Diller demystifies the nature of his marriage, he reframes the mystery. It becomes artful, intentional—like the architecture of one of DVF’s parties: glittering, exclusive, and utterly impenetrable unless invited.

In revealing his truth, Diller quietly reasserts the ultimate privilege: the power to define what truth even is.

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And so the book closes not with a revelation, but with a slow wink. Diller and von Furstenberg remain exactly what they’ve always been—iconic, untouchable, and two steps ahead. Maybe the real secret isn’t in how they stayed married. Maybe it’s in how they convinced the world that the rules never applied to them at all.