We walk through the couple’s succulent garden, then wind down a narrow canyon path to the Pacific. I first meet Johnson shortly before Easter at the Malibu home she shares with Coldplay’s Chris Martin. “You won’t be able to see,” the assistant says. Hearing herself, she feigns shock and scandal in my direction: “Hey-o!” Young’s assistant drops to his knees to investigate. While we wait, she realizes something and suddenly freezes in panic. “Do I need a wallet?” Johnson asks Young, hitting her marks for the videographer while subtly checking her bodysuit for pockets.
Johnson disappears for what feels like half a second, reemerging in the bodysuit and choosing between two black heels, as the masked camera crew and Italian public relations team enter the room to capture some contractual content. “We are so late,” says Young, now in her own green Gucci frock. That done, she and a styling assistant privately deal with black star-shaped nipple covers that won’t stick. She prefers to do her own bangs for public appearances-a good luck charm of sorts-and once everything else is set, she slips into the bathroom to ensure that she looks like herself. “Wouldn’t it be nice to just stay here?” she says, only half-kidding. Right now, it’s drizzling outside, Johnson is running late, and there’s a camera crew at the door waiting to film her getting ready. Photographs by Ryan McGinley styled by Yashua Simmons.
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