, I’m an A-list actress known for my dedication to Method acting. When I played a mime, I spent a year training at Gaulier. When I played a sheep farmer, I became an expert shearer.
And when I played a heart surgeon, I wound up with a restraining order that prevented me from going within 50 meters of Cedars-Sinai. My latest role has been in a thoughtful and understated period drama — I play a 19th-century cobbler, who falls in love with her assistant. (In a particularly beautiful scene, they confess their love to each other wearing nothing more than the sandals they crafted earlier that day.
) To fully immerse myself in this walk of life (no pun intended), I spent weeks apprenticing with an actual cobbler. I learned to craft shoes by hand, stitching leather to felt, and even picked up a slight stoop to truly understand the character’s physical toll. But here’s where it gets weird: the movie wrapped six months ago, and I’m still living like a cobbler.
My home has turned into a workshop, with leather scraps, awls and thread cluttering every surface. My partner is fed up with the constant smell of shoe polish, and we’ve been arguing often. I even found myself fixing my neighbor’s shoes the other day — which got me in a terrible amount of trouble because.
apparently, Manolo Blahniks shouldn’t have chunky straps nailed across the front. (They gave me vertigo just looking at them, Remy — I was only trying to make them safer!) I’ve got to admit: I am as mystifie.