She might be Hollywood royalty, but, as Laura Antonia Jordan finds out, Margaret Qualley is happiest at home, organising her spice drawer
If I were being lazy I could, when writing about Margaret Qualley, employ one of many celebrity profile clichés. I could inform you about the weather and how she is defying it. I might throw in that she is not wearing any make-up. And I could make a point of telling you that the Golden Globe-nominee is So! Normal! Really! But you know the problem with clichés, right? Doh.
And so, regrettably for my journalistic integrity but great for a lunch date, when I meet her at the Marlton in Greenwich Village it is biblically bucketing out when Qualley swoops in all smiles and sparkle, like a human dose of vitamin D. Not (it seems) in make-up, she is wearing the kind of chaotic get up (Laura Ashley dress from eBay, dad’s letterman jacket, fiancé’s cap peppered with brooches and, okay, fine, a Chanel bag) only the beautiful or cool can get away with. First impressions? Very, very nice and, yep, very, very normal.
Qualley likes to chat. Within minutes she has put her mind to who she can set me up with (do it Margaret, I’m serious) and is reaching around for an explanation as to what makes the menu’s Amish chicken, well, Amish. ‘One of the best things about my job is getting to meet so many awesome, awesome people. Literally just talking and listening is the most interesting thing in the world.’