Unlike some actors who shield themselves from the internet chatter, MacDowell can’t help but tune in. “I was scared that people would be mean,” she says, her voice filling with vulnerability. She waited nearly a full year, until July 2021, to debut her new look, on the Cannes red carpet. Last August, MacDowell joined their ranks. His daylong, trompe l’oeil technique of painting silver onto older sections of dyed hair enabled the transitions of Jane Fonda and Sharon Osbourne (and whose work inspired my own jump). Determined, the actor booked an appointment with Jack Martin, the famed Tustin, California, colorist. MacDowell works in an industry that puts a premium on beauty, and by beauty I mean youth, and she was jeopardizing her livelihood. “And then when COVID happened and I saw the roots coming in, I thought it suited me.” “I’d been wanting to do it for a few years,” she says of embracing her natural salt and pepper. It made her feel uncomfortable - and so began what would balloon into an every-three-weeks coloring habit. MacDowell, who is 63 and has been a L’Oréal brand ambassador for an impressive 35 years, didn’t start coloring her hair until she was about 40, when she caught a journalist clocking her silvers during an interview. Off-White c/o Virgil Abloh coat, Tiffany & Co. “But I’ve been selling hair color for a long time,” she says, letting loose a dark cackle. “How old are you?” MacDowell asks and calculates that it took her 20 years beyond my age to break up with her dye bottle. “It looks really good.” Her tone suggests that we’re old friends in fact, many of my old friends have not had the nerve to bring up my no-longer-raven hair in conversation. “You’re growing your silver out,” she says. Her eyebrows pitch in that way they sometimes do in the movies, like a roof in a child’s drawing of a house. She’s the one who’s supposed to keep me waiting. traffic panic attack, I fumble an apology. She glows, not in the manner of a rosy-cheeked ingenue but a majestic being who has just descended Mount Olympus.įresh off my first full-blown L.A. There she is, with the same high forehead and arrowhead chin that, no matter the role, make her look like the subject of a John Singer Sargent painting. Her newly salt and pepper hair hangs over the back of her chair in waves that catch the light like polished silver. She is wearing comfy off-duty attire of cream knits and tobacco-colored clogs. Her back is turned to me, and the slant of her body lets me know that she is exhausted from a full day of being poked and posed for the photographs accompanying this article. Many celebrities would have been long gone, but I find MacDowell waiting in a featureless room with no windows. This theory is put to the unfortunate test when I, having plugged in the wrong address into my Lyft app (right Hollywood studio, wrong location), show up 57 minutes late for our interview. With her big curly mane, gentle South Carolina twang, and that full-barreled laugh that sounds a second away from breaking into a snort, MacDowell has never, despite her more than three decades as an American icon, quite managed to stop seeming gracious and down to earth. Andie MacDowell isn’t like most movie stars.
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