dakota johnson defeated
a blog mostly about walton goggins if i'm being honest
I get my best ideas when I am as far away from a writing utensil as I’ll ever be. I only say this because right now, I am sitting on my couch in my Brooklyn apartment. I have a coffee in my left hand and am typing with one finger on my right. I did my morning skincare routine (splash with water, dapsone gel, moisturizer, sunscreen). My medium roast La Colombe coffee with oat milk (made at home but nice of you to assume I live near a La Colombe) cools down on my coffee table. Warm Coffee and Gentle Snowfall— Smoothing Jazz Winter Cafe Ambiance, an AI nightmare video, is playing on my television. I did morning pages. My laptop is open and the cursor is blinking in the Notes App (chaotic evil). I’ve set myself up for creativity to write this substack that five people read. And, once again, my inability to develop a transition and/or a cohesive theme manifests. Below is my brilliant
On Tuesday night, I found myself unintentionally at Rockefeller Center. Okay, fine, I’ll say it: I peed at my friend’s office there before getting on the subway. Because of SNL 50, aka the Lorne Michaels-knows-he’s-going-to-die vanity project (I think he is the only human being who will not die but that’s a conversation for another day), Rockefeller Center is occupied by more celebrities than the Vanity Fair Oscar party, and, thus, 49th street is lined with as many black cars as there are windows in Manhattan.
I parted ways with my friend, put noise-canceling headphones on, and activated my muscle memory: blasting Lady Gaga’s “Abracadabra” at full volume, walking with more purpose than a Tom Cruise run. I went down an escalator and almost bumped into a beautiful blonde woman. It was Amanda Seyfried. I continued moving without saying anything, but I interviewed her a couple of times. She was kind and her house upstate looked nice on the Zoom calls. I figured it would be weird if a brunette in a stupid outfit with oily skin, and covered in dog hair was like, “Umm, hi! I’ve interviewed you before.” I should get arrested for stalking just for the thought. I continued to the F train, and she, presumably, continued to her black car, not thinking about me at all.
Googoo 4 Goggins
Walton Goggins is on a Timothee Hal Chalamet-level press push ahead of the season three premiere of The White Lotus this Sunday. He did a GQ cover story that with all due respect, I should have written (Goggins is a dream profile for me). He was interviewed by Survivor legend Parvati Shallow with Survivor host Jeff Probst by his side at The White Lotus premiere. “All three of us like the island life,” he said.
Then his Architectural Digest Open Tour dropped, and Dakota Johnson—who lied about loving limes in the 2020 AD tour of her midcentury-inspired LA home—was silently defeated. Goggins’ home, in New York’s Hudson Valley, is my dream: rustic, modern, personal. The interior design makes sense for the location, the home itself, and the people who live in it. For the tour Goggins wore a tight black polo shirt with grey trousers. His tan was fresh and his hair was slicked back. Heavenly.
Goggins’ home is filled with books he actually reads. It has vintage lamps, lush rugs, and a so-delicious-it’s-almost-sensual mixture of textures between wood, leather, and metal. It’s not complicated design: it’s quite simple, but personal touches including unique, intentionally placed light fixtures and artwork make it rich and complex. It’s also truly unique: most celebrities, including those featured in AD, demonstrate an interest in trends rather than individuality. Many use the same interior designer, who gets the same light fixture, the same curved couch that’s uncomfortable after ten minutes, a fucking neon sign in a hallway. The same Farrow & Ball green paint color on the kitchen cabinets. A pasta water dispenser they never use. Or minimalist hell. There is a diffence between brutalism and an all-white and beige living room with a white bucle couch: brutalism is good and the later is worse than living in a pile of needles. Fittingly, Amanda Seyfried’s AD tour stands out as well: there is topilet art in every room in her New York apartment.
On his tour, Goggins describes the outdoor space. “We live in the Hudson Valley, so it’s constantly filled with deer, or wild turkey, or black bears. Or me walking naked, talking to myself, memorizing lines.” He pronounces naked “nekked.”
Goggins also comes out as a dim light person (at last, I am represented on screen). When his wife or son enter the room, they turn all the lights on at full brightness. As soon as they leave, he dims them. I get into little tiffs all the time with my husband about ceiling lights and light temperature. I do not want a home reminiscent of an emergency room, which I think that’s normal and good. I have not felt this seen on screen since Lady Bird. I am exhausted trying to figure out the design of my bedroom. Right now, it’s a sad, uninspired space: there are good pieces, like an art deco dresser and a dramatic abstract painting of a lake I purchased on Etsy in 2016 (before ti was basically Temu). But the bedrooms in Goggins’ home, with simple solid bedding and accents with color rugs, has inspired me. Ultimately, Goggins’ tour is the most authentic AD has featured, because it clearly came from his heart, his needs, and his idiosyncratic taste.
Authenticity died the day people stopped posting pixelated, out-of-context, and poorly composited pictures in the sepia filter on Instagram, whenever that was. The specific date is impossible to determine. Mid 2015? I was having too much fun living without my phone to notice. Authenticity from public figures has arguably always been dead, but since the normalcy of curated social media, it has grown more inauthentic by the second. Every so often, there’s a breath of fresh air: me, someone whose brutal honesty has probably hurt my career but I don’t give a shit, Michael Keaton, who posts pictures of the news on his TV on Instagram (even amid Beetlejuice Beetlejuice press), Seyfried, and, of course, Goggins.
Goggins has been on my radar since I watched an episode of The Shield out of context in my family’s basement when I was in high school because I read that it was good on Pajiba.com. I wish him well in all endeavors and one day, I hope I get to hang out with him for a weekend so I can get paid $200 to write a 3k-word story about him for a publication that folds two years later. I am the modern girl version of Gay Talese.
What I watched this week: Lady Gaga on Hot Ones, Survivor Heroes vs Villains (will not reveal episode count)
Ultimately meaningless additional note: Friday, February 14, 2025. Valentine’s Day. 9:58ish am. I saw Peter Dinklage on my way to get a spray tan
xx