Sofii: Writing Herself Into The Music
SEPTEMBER 6, 2026 → WORDS ADRIÁN GOMIS EXPÓSITO
PHOTOGRAPHY CLARA SUVARI MAKE-UP NAOMI GUGLER
Moving fluidly between fashion, nightlife and music, Paris/New York-based French-American artist Sofii (Sophie Koella) has never been interested in staying within a single creative lane. First known through modelling and DJing, she has since worked on musical collaborations with Courrèges and Jean Paul Gaultier, co-founded the Paris underground collective More Hard Feelings, and increasingly stepped into her own voice as a singer, songwriter and producer. Born in New Orleans to a French guitarist who played with Bob Dylan and an American mother, Sofii grew up surrounded by contrasting musical and cultural influences, from classical composition and folk to jazz and electronic music. Following her debut EP and a performance at Berlin Atonal, she now enters a new chapter with I wrote this for you, a seven-track record built around the intimacy of letters.
Written to herself and to the people who have shaped her, I wrote this for you turns songwriting into an exercise in processing self-doubt, forgiveness, family, heartbreak and change. Across the EP, Sofii brings together the acoustic sensibility of her upbringing with the language of contemporary electronic music, creating something both personal and expansive. Its accompanying visuals continue that introspective approach, exploring nostalgia, solitude and the complicated process of letting go.
Ahead of the EP’s September 25 release, we speak with Sofii about embracing her many creative identities, finding freedom in having no rules, growing up between two cultures, the importance of friendship and collaboration, and what it means to finally feel heard through music.
Your new EP “I wrote this for you” is built around the idea of letters, some addressed to yourself, others to people who’ve shaped your life. Writing a song can already feel incredibly exposing, so what did this format allow you to express that a more traditional approach to songwriting couldn’t? Were there any letters that surprised you once they became music?
Yeah, I guess this is the only way I know how to write. I’m a pretty frontal person; I don’t have a hard time saying what I feel or think, and I think that that “blunt” way of existing is how I approach writing too. I don’t really know any other way, for better or for worse. I also feel like the writing process for me is more of a journey of acceptance, if that makes sense. Songwriting helps me process things. Then once I’ve processed, I don’t have a hard time finding the words.
“I wrote this for you” explores self-doubt, forgiveness, family and the search for clarity, but it also feels like you’re reconnecting with the music you grew up with: folk, classical composition, acoustic songwriting, while still speaking the language of electronic music. Did making this EP feel like returning to your roots, or did it feel more like discovering a new version of yourself?
I think a mixture of both for sure. And that’s what I love about music, the way it embodies our nuances. I had so much fun allowing all my influences and musical influences to fuse on this project. It was so freeing and, for me, an important realization that there really are no rules.
Your career has never followed a single lane. You’ve worked as a model, DJ, co-music director for fashion houses like Courrèges, and now you’re establishing yourself as a singer, songwriter and producer. Do these identities ever compete with one another, or have you reached a point where they all naturally feed into the same creative vision?
That’s a good question. I don’t think I ever really thought about them competing with each other, but I will say that I’m still getting used to the idea that it’s ok to wear multiple hats in life. I grew up with a musician father, dedicated to his craft all his life, and a mother in academia with a PhD, dedicated to her field all her life. I always felt pressure to pick a lane, to excel at one thing. But I’m starting to accept that about myself, that I just like doing many things. Like, life’s short, why the fuck not? I don’t believe in putting yourself in a box anyway.
The video for God carries a quiet, almost cinematic sense of nostalgia. Rather than dramatizing heartbreak, it lingers in the quieter spaces of pensiveness, waiting, and the endless feeling of being lost in your thoughts after a breakup. What made it important to tell this story through these small, intimate moments, rather than something more overtly emotional?
I think I’m attracted to mystery and subtleties. I don’t really like overtly obvious ways of displaying things, generally speaking. I like nuance. Definitely, the feeling of being “lost” is not something I’m a stranger to. However, I’ve realized that the only way to feel “anchored” is in these small, intimate moments with yourself. It’s through making peace with what isn’t obvious that we usually find our peace.
The video was filmed by Camilla Deterre and shot where you grew up, yet it feels strangely void. Was that your intention with the setting? Was there a particular memory, emotion or feeling you kept returning to while filming that helped you inhabit that character?
I don’t know; I think I was just trying to be myself; there was no mask. I guess I appear like a rather lonely figure. But that is kinda how I’m in real life, just a bit of a loner. We shot that video in Los Angeles, where I grew up. More than anything, shooting that video together was a really special moment between the two of us. It was just her and me and an iPhone. I don’t know. Camilla is such an important person to me. I wouldn’t be who I’m today if it weren’t for her. She’s infinitely talented, and I’m just grateful to have collaborated on something together, after nearly 10 years of friendship.
Having grown up between French and American influences and now dividing your life between Paris and New York, you’ve experienced different creative ecosystems firsthand. Do you notice yourself becoming a different artist depending on the city you're in, or have you found a way to carry the same emotional language wherever you create?
I think my emotional language is the only constant thing about me. I definitely am a different version of myself in France than I’m in the States. It’s kind of a trippy thing being from two countries, two cultures. I kind of feel like an imposter in both places. But I’m also really grateful for that. I can’t imagine being any other way.
Alongside your solo work, you co-founded More Hard Feelings, a collective that quickly became an exciting platform within Paris’ underground scene. After spending years moving through different creative communities, what kind of space were you hoping to build, and what do you think is still missing from nightlife and electronic culture today?
I founded MHF with a group of friends a few years back, and we stopped the collective about a year or so ago. It came from a place of wanting to action what we felt was missing in Paris at that time. Taking the party outside the clubs, transforming new spaces, ensuring the best sound, the best lights. Bringing a diverse roster of artists from all over. Trying to make the prices accessible. I don’t know if I’m entitled to really say whether we really achieved that or not. I don’t think we anticipated it becoming such a hype-y thing, and that definitely wasn’t our goal. It was a fun adventure but also really stressful, and I lost a lot of money doing it. But I don’t have any regrets.
Fashion has been an important part of your journey long before releasing music professionally, but this EP feels deeply personal rather than image-driven. Has making music changed the way you think about fashion, or do you still see both disciplines as telling the same story through different mediums?
Modeling to me has always been a job, and not much more. I have infinite respect for certain creatives in the industry who I think are real artists. But I think the industry has changed a lot, and I never found a lot of creative stimulation in being a model. That being said, I have fun doing it, I’ve met a lot of amazing people, and I’ve traveled around the world. But I think music gives me a voice that I never was able to find as a model. And for that, I’m so grateful.
You recently introduced this new chapter with a live performance at Badaboum, where audiences heard these songs before the EP’s release. Once music leaves the privacy of the studio and starts belonging to listeners, does your relationship with those songs change? And what do you hope people carry with them after spending time with I wrote this for you?
Yeah, definitely, my relationship to the music changes once it goes out into the world. But also not really. My music is my truth. I just want to be heard. And if my songs move even just one person in the audience, then I feel like I’ve done my job. That connection, that conversation, is all I seek.
Sofii: Writing Herself Into The Music
SEPTEMBER 6, 2026
WORDS ADRIÁN GOMIS EXPÓSITO
PHOTOGRAPHY CLARA SUVARI MAKE-UP NAOMI GUGLER
Moving fluidly between fashion, nightlife and music, Paris/New York-based French-American artist Sofii (Sophie Koella) has never been interested in staying within a single creative lane. First known through modelling and DJing, she has since worked on musical collaborations with Courrèges and Jean Paul Gaultier, co-founded the Paris underground collective More Hard Feelings, and increasingly stepped into her own voice as a singer, songwriter and producer. Born in New Orleans to a French guitarist who played with Bob Dylan and an American mother, Sofii grew up surrounded by contrasting musical and cultural influences, from classical composition and folk to jazz and electronic music. Following her debut EP and a performance at Berlin Atonal, she now enters a new chapter with I wrote this for you, a seven-track record built around the intimacy of letters.
Written to herself and to the people who have shaped her, I wrote this for you turns songwriting into an exercise in processing self-doubt, forgiveness, family, heartbreak and change. Across the EP, Sofii brings together the acoustic sensibility of her upbringing with the language of contemporary electronic music, creating something both personal and expansive. Its accompanying visuals continue that introspective approach, exploring nostalgia, solitude and the complicated process of letting go.
Ahead of the EP’s September 25 release, we speak with Sofii about embracing her many creative identities, finding freedom in having no rules, growing up between two cultures, the importance of friendship and collaboration, and what it means to finally feel heard through music.
Your new EP “I wrote this for you” is built around the idea of letters, some addressed to yourself, others to people who’ve shaped your life. Writing a song can already feel incredibly exposing, so what did this format allow you to express that a more traditional approach to songwriting couldn’t? Were there any letters that surprised you once they became music?
Yeah, I guess this is the only way I know how to write. I’m a pretty frontal person; I don’t have a hard time saying what I feel or think, and I think that that “blunt” way of existing is how I approach writing too. I don’t really know any other way, for better or for worse. I also feel like the writing process for me is more of a journey of acceptance, if that makes sense. Songwriting helps me process things. Then once I’ve processed, I don’t have a hard time finding the words.
“I wrote this for you” explores self-doubt, forgiveness, family and the search for clarity, but it also feels like you’re reconnecting with the music you grew up with: folk, classical composition, acoustic songwriting, while still speaking the language of electronic music. Did making this EP feel like returning to your roots, or did it feel more like discovering a new version of yourself?
I think a mixture of both for sure. And that’s what I love about music, the way it embodies our nuances. I had so much fun allowing all my influences and musical influences to fuse on this project. It was so freeing and, for me, an important realization that there really are no rules.
Your career has never followed a single lane. You’ve worked as a model, DJ, co-music director for fashion houses like Courrèges, and now you’re establishing yourself as a singer, songwriter and producer. Do these identities ever compete with one another, or have you reached a point where they all naturally feed into the same creative vision?
That’s a good question. I don’t think I ever really thought about them competing with each other, but I will say that I’m still getting used to the idea that it’s ok to wear multiple hats in life. I grew up with a musician father, dedicated to his craft all his life, and a mother in academia with a PhD, dedicated to her field all her life. I always felt pressure to pick a lane, to excel at one thing. But I’m starting to accept that about myself, that I just like doing many things. Like, life’s short, why the fuck not? I don’t believe in putting yourself in a box anyway.
The video for God carries a quiet, almost cinematic sense of nostalgia. Rather than dramatizing heartbreak, it lingers in the quieter spaces of pensiveness, waiting, and the endless feeling of being lost in your thoughts after a breakup. What made it important to tell this story through these small, intimate moments, rather than something more overtly emotional?
I think I’m attracted to mystery and subtleties. I don’t really like overtly obvious ways of displaying things, generally speaking. I like nuance. Definitely, the feeling of being “lost” is not something I’m a stranger to. However, I’ve realized that the only way to feel “anchored” is in these small, intimate moments with yourself. It’s through making peace with what isn’t obvious that we usually find our peace.
The video was filmed by Camilla Deterre and shot where you grew up, yet it feels strangely void. Was that your intention with the setting? Was there a particular memory, emotion or feeling you kept returning to while filming that helped you inhabit that character?
I don’t know; I think I was just trying to be myself; there was no mask. I guess I appear like a rather lonely figure. But that is kinda how I’m in real life, just a bit of a loner. We shot that video in Los Angeles, where I grew up. More than anything, shooting that video together was a really special moment between the two of us. It was just her and me and an iPhone. I don’t know. Camilla is such an important person to me. I wouldn’t be who I’m today if it weren’t for her. She’s infinitely talented, and I’m just grateful to have collaborated on something together, after nearly 10 years of friendship.
Having grown up between French and American influences and now dividing your life between Paris and New York, you’ve experienced different creative ecosystems firsthand. Do you notice yourself becoming a different artist depending on the city you're in, or have you found a way to carry the same emotional language wherever you create?
I think my emotional language is the only constant thing about me. I definitely am a different version of myself in France than I’m in the States. It’s kind of a trippy thing being from two countries, two cultures. I kind of feel like an imposter in both places. But I’m also really grateful for that. I can’t imagine being any other way.
Alongside your solo work, you co-founded More Hard Feelings, a collective that quickly became an exciting platform within Paris’ underground scene. After spending years moving through different creative communities, what kind of space were you hoping to build, and what do you think is still missing from nightlife and electronic culture today?
I founded MHF with a group of friends a few years back, and we stopped the collective about a year or so ago. It came from a place of wanting to action what we felt was missing in Paris at that time. Taking the party outside the clubs, transforming new spaces, ensuring the best sound, the best lights. Bringing a diverse roster of artists from all over. Trying to make the prices accessible. I don’t know if I’m entitled to really say whether we really achieved that or not. I don’t think we anticipated it becoming such a hype-y thing, and that definitely wasn’t our goal. It was a fun adventure but also really stressful, and I lost a lot of money doing it. But I don’t have any regrets.
Fashion has been an important part of your journey long before releasing music professionally, but this EP feels deeply personal rather than image-driven. Has making music changed the way you think about fashion, or do you still see both disciplines as telling the same story through different mediums?
Modeling to me has always been a job, and not much more. I have infinite respect for certain creatives in the industry who I think are real artists. But I think the industry has changed a lot, and I never found a lot of creative stimulation in being a model. That being said, I have fun doing it, I’ve met a lot of amazing people, and I’ve traveled around the world. But I think music gives me a voice that I never was able to find as a model. And for that, I’m so grateful.
You recently introduced this new chapter with a live performance at Badaboum, where audiences heard these songs before the EP’s release. Once music leaves the privacy of the studio and starts belonging to listeners, does your relationship with those songs change? And what do you hope people carry with them after spending time with I wrote this for you?
Yeah, definitely, my relationship to the music changes once it goes out into the world. But also not really. My music is my truth. I just want to be heard. And if my songs move even just one person in the audience, then I feel like I’ve done my job. That connection, that conversation, is all I seek.