NOVEMBER 2019 InSTYLE 177the graphs. I said something to the effect of, “Listen,
Mr. Trump, I know you’ve got as much coverage as you
want from all these news outlets, but you’re not getting
in front of my audience, which is a sizable audience in
cable news. If you want to try to pitch your campaign
in terms of what you’ve been describing to me—want-
ing to reach independents, disaffected Democrats, and
Democrats who don’t like Hillary Clinton—I think you
should come on. It ’s not going to be easy, but it ’ll be dif-
ferent.” And he says, “ Well , this has been really good.
You can use this.” And I was like, “ W hat do you mean,
‘I can use this’?” And he said, “ Was this on TV?” “No,
this is not on TV.” “ Well, you can put this on TV.” For
more than a week we’ve been negotiating that this is
completely off the record, no recording. So I’ve just
had this conversation with him, and he now thinks he’s
done an interview with me. I’m like, “You really think
my interview with you would be chatting about your
polls and [Republican primary opponent] Jeb Bush?”
He changed his mind about the off-the-record nature
of the conversation and said I could use it. That ’s why I
can describe to you that this happened.
LB: If you were to be in a room with him any time soon,
where would you start the conversation? RM: W hat
would you want [to know] from him? If you could ask
him a question, what would you ask him?
LB: W hat do you care about? W hen you see a crying
child who’s been taken away from her mother on the
border and you know that that ’s because of you...? Nice
icebreaker. RM: He’d definitely give you a great answer
to that. “Fake news. Obama’s the one who...” I hope I
get to interview him. I expect at some point I will. But
there’s an unusual challenge with this president. He is
completely dislocated from the truth. He’s an unreli-
able narrator for his own mind. W hen he stands up
there at the G7 [summit] and says, “The First Lady has
gotten to know Kim Jong Un.” First of all, you weren’t
asked about Kim Jong Un. Second of all, whether or not
you think the dictator of North Korea is a good person
doesn’t matter. But why bring your w ife into this?
Your wife has not met Kim Jong Un.
LB: There are clear instances where Kim Jong Un
meetings have occurred, and Melania Trump has not
been there. RM: Never. The W hite House itself had to
clarify that she has not met him. So when it comes to
interviewing a president who has that kind of relation-
ship to the truth, you have to ask questions that are
designed to elicit something else—because you’re not
going to get the truth from him. You have to ask ques-
tions that illuminate something about his own process
or habits that he doesn’t realize he should lie about.
You have to backfoot him a bit.
LB: W hat makes you angry about what ’s happening
now? RM: I’m not that angry of a person. I get frus-
trated. I get sad. I’m an easy crier. I am emotionally
affected by the wanton infliction of cruelty on peo-
ple who have done nothing wrong and don’t deserve
it. It doesn’t change the way I do stuff. Sometimes I
think ahead about little tricks and techniques to not
cry on air when I’m talking about something unbe-
lievably terrible.
LB: Like what? RM: Pinch yourself right here [ pinches
her hand between her thumb and index finger]. Just
really wrench it. It causes a nerve pain response.
Sometimes I cry on TV. That happens. I’d rather it not.
LB: W hy? I feel like people—especially in politics—be-
come cynical about crying. It ’s not a device. It ’s be-
cause you’re feeling something. RM: I expect the
audience will feel things when we’re reporting on poi-
gnant or difficult stories, but for me to display emo-
tion, I don’t think that ’s helpful to anybody. It ’s a
distraction. If you’re having an emotional reaction to
the news, I want to respect that and not trample on it.
LB: W hat do you feel most optimistic about now? RM: I
wrote this oil-and-gas book, Blowout. It ’s about the
end of the world, but the place where I ended up actu-
ally made me optimistic. The basic thesis of the book is
that democracy—small d democracy, governance—is
threatened. The cure to that is more democracy. De-
mocracy is the best system of government on earth—
it ’s the only thing that works—and it ’s in decline all
over the world. It ’s scary to see authoritarianism rear
its head and appear to take hold in places where you’d
think there wouldn’t be particularly fertile soil. But I
feel confident that, ultimately, democratic power will
win. We know what the solution is: people expressing
themselves in an untrammeled way, being listened to,
and having representative government that does what
they want. That ’s still the best idea, and I don’t think
it ’s a googly-eyed idealistic thing.
LB: I love asking about personal ambition and pride
because some women are like, “Oh, I don’t want to
say I’m proud.” In my opinion, that ’s BS. So what are
you proud of? RM: I am proud of the work that we do
on the show every day. We don’t always do every-
thing right, but when we get stuff wrong, we correct
it. I’ve got a record I can stand on in terms of what we
put out there and the stories we’ve advanced. In this
business, being on the air this long in itself is kind of
a major achievement. We grow people on our staff,
and they don’t get abused or treated poorly. It ’s a
very knockabout industry in terms of turnover, but
we’ve tried to be more constructive and sustainable.
I have not found it to be sustainable in terms of my
own body and my own health.
LB: How is your health? Aside from the obvious. RM:
I’ve got seven screwed-up disks and stenosis in my
neck and three torn ligaments and an avulsion frac-
ture. I’m just a mess.
LB: Is it from sitting and reading a lot? RM: The back
and neck stuff is. Ten-plus hours a day, five days a week,
50 weeks a year, 11 years—
LB: Fifty a year? You only take two weeks off? RM:
About, yeah. And it ’s fine to do that for one year, but
when you do it for 11 years, you fall apart.
LB: W hat exercise do you do? RM: Right now I don’t do
any thing. It ’s a disaster. I hurt my back in the spring of
2017, and since then I’ve been doing old-people exercise.
LB: We’re all getting there. Just be avant-garde about
it. RM: My father-in-law, Susan’s dearly departed dad,
used to say, “Getting old is not for sissies.” And I’m like,
“ Well...” [ laughs] My mission for the next couple of
years is to get my body back in order so I can do the
kind of movement I need to keep myself sane. I like to
fish, I like to hike, I like to be outdoors. I can’t do any of
that right now.
LB: W hat ’s a great day like when you’re not working?
RM: I’ve got a completely working body—all my limbs! I
don’t have three torn ligaments and an avulsion frac-
ture. I wake up in Massachusetts—I go home to west-
ern Mass. on Friday nights. Susan and I have breakfast.
We walk the dog, she goes for a 25-mile bike ride, I go
fishing, and I actually catch a fish. For all the fishing I
do, I’m terrible. I haven’t gotten better over time. But I
will fish any way—in the sea, in a lake, in a river, in a
bathtub. Then we come home and play darts. She cooks;
I make cocktails. It ’s early to bed, early to rise. If I could
have that day 10,000 days in a row, I would be happy.
LB: How great is it to just stand in a river and space out?
RM: That ’s exactly what fishing is for me. I’m crap at it. I
only know three knots, and when I’m tying one of those
knots, I need complete stillness and focus. Everybody
thinks of fishing as a thing you do with beer, but no. I
love drinking; I’m, like, semipro. I also love fishing. I
would never do them together. You need both hands.
LB: You make the cocktails at home, though. RM: Ye s ,
but I made a rule about nine years ago: no spirits on
school nights. So if I’m making cocktails, it ’s a weekend.
I find that if I have a cocktail or a glass of Scotch, I can-
not be counted on to not have another one. It reduces
your inhibitions and therefore reduces your ability to
be like, “I’m just [ having one],” whereas if I’m going to
have a glass of wine, I can have one glass. I’m completely
religious about it. Even if I’m at dinner and everybody ’s
having a martini, nope. It ’s a school night. But people
know I’m a good drinker. W henever someone comes
back from vacation, they bring me hooch. I have Scotch,
rye, bourbon, Irish pot-stilled whiskey, mezcal. In
case of the apocalypse, you should come to my office.
LB: W hat do you do after the show on school nights?
RM: I chat with the floor crew, take out my contact
lenses, and take off my makeup. I put my black blazerback on the rack and my black camisole back in the
paper bag and then do some work in the office.
LB: W hat do you buy, clothing-wise? RM: I’m not a
shopper, really. I know this is off-brand for InStyle. I’m
super into handkerchiefs. Susan buys me cute vintage
hankies. I get superstitious about their luck value. I
have all these little rules about how they can’t be
moved from one pocket to another pocket, and if you
accidentally launder your trousers with a handker-
chief in the pocket, that has a specific luck quotient.
LB: I bet you have your own spreadsheet in your head.
W ho do you think has great style? RM: I’ve been
psyched to see the women’s national soccer team go so
aggro on style and just be like a) We are going to sur-
prise you, b) We’re all going to be completely different,
and c) We’re not going to be any thing like anybody
else in this field.
LB: Do you remember a look you had when you were
younger when you thought, “I’ve nailed this”? RM: I
was really into my first-ever sports uniform when I
played on a mixed boys-and-girls under-6 basketball
team at the YMCA. I remember the outfit: a black T-
shirt with yellow writing and black g ym shorts. This
was, like, 1979. I think I kept the outfit for a long time.
My parents—bless them—probably still have it. Poor
things, they can never clean up their house. I’m like,
“No, I definitely need that!” They ’re like, “You’re 46!
We’ve held on to this for 40 years!”
LB: W hat about when you were a teen? RM: I was a
tomboy, and I got to play sports. But I came out to my-
self when I was 16 and then came out to everybody else
when I was 17. Getting there and realizing that you’re
queer and you need to get out of your conservative
town, there was never a moment of, like, physical self-
satisfaction. I’m still working on that.
LB: Yeah. So after the show you put the blazer back
on the rack. W hat time do you finally get home? RM:
I’m usually home by 11ish. I walk the dog. Susan
stays up for me valiantly. We have a midnight supper.
I’m up until 2 or 2:30, and then in the morning I’m
ready to start again.
LB: And so it goes. RM: I have a great life—a great job,
the world’s greatest relationship, an awesome dog. My
family ’s awesome. My staff ’s amazing. This is the
greatest city in the world, and I leave on the weekends
and go to the greatest place in the world. I’m doing
great. The question is how long I can do it for, but I
wouldn’t trade any of this for any thing in the world.
LB: OK, then. I’m going to call this “Portrait of Mis-
er y.” RM: Just call it “Rest, Ice, Compression, Eleva-
tion: Tuesdays with Rachel Maddow.” nMy Favorite Things
CONTINUED FROM PAGE 168
fashion because it spanned so many decades. There
were more than 96 costumes, which required at least
three fittings each. Gertrude drove around in a Rolls-
Royce, and she loved beautiful things, especially jew-
elry. The pieces in the film were supplied by Cartier,
and I wore up to $2 million a day. If I could only wear
one costume from my career again, it would be the cape
from Star! It was quite literally nothing but frills from
top to bottom, edged in black piping. It only appears in
a small montage in the film, but it managed to capture
every thing that I love most about high couture.
Of all my roles, though, I consider the one in Victor/
Victoria among my most complicated. There were times
when I was playing straight female or pretending to be a
straight male. But then there were also times when I was
playing male but thinking female, so it was all a little like
rubbing my tummy and patting my head, if you know
what I mean. I started to watch every man who crossed
my path to pick up some clues on their mannerisms and
how to behave. I found the layers of men’s clothing claus-
trophobic. A fter years of wearing crinolines and petti-
coats, I was certainly surprised how constricting a
starched collar and a dickey could be.Andrews’s book Home Work: A Memoir of My
Hollywood Years is out now.