The release of the new Spider-Man movie is just around the corner, so I guess Emma Stone is doing a lot of interviews to promote it. It’s a wonderful, magical time when Emma has something big to promote, because otherwise she tends to keep things a little too low-key for me to be able to really obsess over her the way I want to. That’s what this is, by the way. So just gear up for that.
Her newest interview is just as darling as the last, so let’s go ahead and get into it, shall we?
Being adorable: She lets out a gigantic, honking cough. “I feel like I need to eat a little something because I have postnasal drip,” she says, clearing her throat. “Not to brag,” she adds in a goofy-smarmy voice.
On her boyfriend, Andrew Garfield: “Not too shabby, eh?”
On being private: “I’d tell you everything if that thing wasn’t here,” she says apologetically, gesturing at the tape recorder. “It’s just not necessarily stuff I want the whole world to read and have an opportunity to comment on. I’m sorry, I hate to be that actress who says”—girlish voice—“?‘I don’t talk about my personal life,’eeesh. I was such a fan as a kid, and there were so many people I wanted to know about. I understand it; I just can’t bring myself to do it. I freak out having a Facebook.”
On paparazzi: One morning, an editor at Us Weekly saw her and Garfield at brunch at this very restaurant and alerted photographers, who swarmed the place and followed them to their apartment, where the paparazzi set up camp and refused to budge for over a month. “One guy told me, ‘This is my job. I’m going to be here every day now,’?” Stone says. “I cried in front of this guy. When you hear this at eight o’clock in the morning, you’re like, Oh my God, my life as I know it is gone.”
On foot haters: She doesn’t seem to have a lot of haters, not even on the Internet, unless you count the poster on Wikifeet, “the collaborative celebrity foot-fetish website,” who finds her toes a little bony. “Is this grounds for retirement?” she deadpans. “Be really, really, brutally honest.”
Her worst quality: “I project things onto situations that aren’t necessarily happening,” she says when I ask what her worst quality is. “Oh, yeah,” she says. I must look surprised: I was expecting a joke about a vestigial tail or something. “I’m really going to go there. This is like a historical ‘I have dealt with it in therapy’ type of thing. I’ll think that someone is saying something or thinking something, and I’ll react emotionally as if that were the truth. Sometimes I think someone is whispering to someone else about me, and I get sad, and then I’m reacting like I’m sad for hours when it really isn’t happening.” She pauses. “For the rest of the night, I’m going to think about how I told you that.”
On looks: “The pretty thing … It was never a value to me growing up,” she says. “I always thought I was like the goofy, wonky one.”
Would a lengthy heartfelt fan letter be creepy, or would it be worth a shot?