Zoey has earned another fan in
her Politician costar Jessica Lange:
“She’s a genuine actress and I
think that’s what matters to her,”
Jessica says. “It’s not about
becoming famous.” Undoubtedly,
though, Zoey will have to deal with
that very thing. I ask if her parents
gave her advice on how to navigate
the industry and life in the public
eye, considering their own longev-
ity in the biz. “God, no,” she says,
laughing and dabbing at some
salsa that’s dribbled on her dress.
“Absolutely not. No. If you have
any advice, I would love some.”
She admits her biggest worry isn’t
fame but something she fears is
much more imminent: a quarter-
life crisis.
“Did you have one?” she asks,
and I confess that, yeah, I kinda
did. She nods. “I think I’m nearing
it...or in it,” she says. “There’s
nothing I can do. I just have to ride
the wave. I fully have existential
thoughts. What does it all mean?
How are we here? What were wefrom the Valley, but she’s not a
ditz. The reason she was able to
jump in and hold her own with the
cast of Zombieland isn’t nature
but a serious nurturing of her
drive and talent. She started
studying improv when she was
just 10 years old, and she went on
to attend Los Angeles County
High School for the Arts. “Being
surrounded by a bunch of other
like-minded people who also
knew what they wanted to do at a
very young age was super life-
affirming and inspiring,” she
says. She runs her hands through
her hair again, takes another sip of
her drink, and looks at me point-
edly. “When did you know you
wanted to be a writer?”
This is a funny question—not
because I don’t have an answer
but because no one ever asks it.
Interviews are designed to be
one-sided conversations, but
Zoey apparently didn’t get that
memo. Every time I ask her some-
thing, she asks me the same thing
right back. And she’s not just
being nice—I can tell that she
genuinely wants to know. At one
point, she says, “I was reading in
your piece, when you were saying
you just didn’t give up...” and it
takes me a second before I realize
that she’s referencing an article I
wrote several months ago. In an
unexpected plot twist, the
googler has become the googlee.
Earlier, Zoey had jokingly
referred to our meeting as “a first
date,” and I must admit that the
date is going well.
put on this earth to
do? Then I’m like,
‘Zoey, just stop.’”
I have a feeling her
crisis will remain
theoretical and not
spiral into the sort of
public meltdown
that has sent many a
previous actor tum-
bling before they
reached their peak.
Her most scandalous
habits typically
involve...loving her
pets a little too
much? “I haven’t
been to jail, for the
record, but if I ever
were to go to jail, I would love to go
to jail for driving my tractor onto a
surface street,” she says, recount-
ing a time she did that looking for
Duke, her family’s beloved,
escape-prone rescue corgi mix. “I
got in very big trouble with the
city. I’m so sorry, Los Angeles.”
By now, Zoey and I have been
talking for so long that the quesa-
dilla has congealed and the
horchata has been drained to ice.
We’re both sprawled on the side-
walk, our own concrete jungle, and
the scant palm-tree shade has
moved on. Zoey checks her phone,
but there have been no updates
from Maybelle’s vet. We gather our
trash and stand up, then head
toward the museum. Zoey Deutch
may be on the fast track to Big
Fucking Deal, but right now, she’s
in no hurry, and she would like to
see some art.“IF I EVER WERE TO GO TO JAIL, I WOULD
LOVE TO GO TO JAIL FORdriving my tractor
ONTO A SURFACE STREET.”112
Cosmopolitan November 2019