For this award-winning French tenor, the secret to happiness lies in finding balance in what he calls his extraordinary life. And so, when his recording and stage schedule allows, the 39-year-old makes time for serenity—and for indulging his love of romantic French opera, as a listener rather than a singer.
Bernheim’s accolades include Opera Singer of the Year from Les Victoires de la Musique in France in 2020, and his recently released album, Douce France, is his third following an eponymous debut in 2019 and 2022’s Boulevard des Italiens. A regular at Europe’s leading opera houses—from the Opéra national de Paris and Wiener Staatsoper to London’s Royal Opera House and Staatsoper Berlin—he spends about 70 percent of his time traveling. Prone to becoming restless if he remains in one place too long, he splits his downtime between Paris, where he was born, and Zurich, where he performed as a young man.
He recently returned to the former to stage a version of Fauré’s Hymne à Apollon at the closing ceremony of the Olympics and will portray the titular tormented poet in Les Contes d’Hoffmann at the Metropolitan Opera this fall.
Coffee. I take it with oat milk—how American!
I think it’s a machine that can be very hungry. It’s insatiable. It’s very human to fall into the arms of success and want more. Am I now at the peak? Or should I be hungry for more? I think it is natural to have ambition, but it’s also important to be thankful for what we have.
I’m wearing a white-dial Rolex Daytona. I’ve always seen the Daytona as a quintessential Rolex.
I live already a very extraordinary life, but I have a lot of routines. Sometimes the very little things, like stopping for the first time in a café for coffee, or taking this street instead of that street—these are the small things that I do for the first time, and it’s really nice.
I go to the gym every day. I don’t overdo it because I don’t want to be starving when I get out—I just want to feel alive and well in my body. If we’re not in the same city, I call my fiancée, my daughter, my grandmother. I’m surrounded by women.
That there was more time in one day—more hours, more days in a year to do more, to give more.
When I go onstage before a performance, when there is nothing, there is silence. There is this moment of stillness. And these are the moments where I’m connected with my loneliness, which is important. Being lonely, I think, is not a bad thing.
An extra battery charger and my AirPods. Always.
Roger Federer—because he has the humility to cry.
Hotel Sacher, Salzburg. The Salzburg Festival is like the Olympic Games and the World Cup of opera and classical music.
I hate shopping, but I go to Liste Rouge in Paris, which makes the shirts that I wear for performances.
I don’t make it, but I love a good whiskey sour.
I guess it’s a company called Nespresso, and they deal in coffee.
You’re responsible for knocking at the door. Sometimes it takes years to realize that you bring something special. So keep believing in yourself, but do not think that anyone is going to do your work for you.
To manage my stress in a different way. I think I would have golfed more because it’s not about the physical experience, it’s mental. You play against yourself.
It’s one of the first things I learned in English: “All the best.” It works in every situation—almost.
Being together with the important people that you have in your life.
The Witcher.
Classic, elegant, very few colors: navy blue, black, white, and two shades of gray. I’m always searching for something that is not extravagant, but still elegant.
Sometimes it takes me a while to realize that I had the right instinct, but I fought it. I think that in general, I have good instincts, but I don’t always listen because there is a necessity for me to learn something in the journey.
You know how they say Italian tomato sauce is an antidepressant? There are some parts of an opera, like in Roméo et Juliette, La Bohème, or La Traviata, that have two or three bars of music that feel like home.