PART 3
Teen stardom, a relentless schedule, no wonder she eventually had what she now calls a meltdown. “I think I worked so hard, then I started getting really, really tired. It was definitely exhaustion and the first break-up [with Depp], and kind of that identity crisis.” She suffered anxiety attacks, but she hasn’t had one “for a long time”. This was an era before the phrase “mental health” was part of the national conversation. Did therapy work for her? “Definitely. I had a great therapist,” although “he retired a few months later”, she says, mock crying. She admits she wasn’t always treated equally in the industry and had some bad experiences, but Ryder says she was “never really traumatised or anything like that”. Certainly she was “a little headstrong”: when her agent suggested she turn down Heathers, the film that made her, she ditched the agent and went ahead with the film. Aged 17.
Today she is grateful she didn’t come of age during the time of social media. Ryder is a tech Luddite and has never signed up to any platform, despite “firm suggestions” from industry people that it would help her career. She feels protective of the child actors on Stranger Things. “I worry about them a lot, because it’s so overwhelming. Social media can be so isolating. I’ve watched people get really upset and go into real depressions because of it, actors who get, what do you call it, ‘tro …?’ ” Trolled, I tell her. “When I hear ‘followers’, I think of Charles Manson, and when I hear ‘viral’, I think of a virus,” she laughs. I am not sure she could withstand a Twitter storm or cancel culture — although who can? “People have sort of stopped pressuring me to get on social media because they know I’ve worked really hard to have this life for myself,” she says quietly. “I’m a fan of mystery.”
When asked about her boyfriend, the handsome, silver-haired Scott Mackinlay Hahn, who she is currently spending lockdown with, she becomes pointedly monosyllabic, polite but firm. He is a co-founder of the “sustainable apparel brand” Loomstate, and they have reportedly been dating for about nine years, with Ryder only going so far as to say that the secret to their relationship is “friendship”. Her bohemian intellectual parents, Michael and Cynthia (LSD guru Timothy Leary was Winona’s godfather, and beat poet Allen Ginsberg was another friend of her parents), have been married for 50 years and still “giggle and make out”. She is close to them — she has never had children herself — and misses them like crazy; they live in Vancouver. “It’s awful. They don’t know how to use Zoom. They have flip phones and a landline! Normally, I would be up there right now.”
Ryder will be 50 next year, although when I tell her this, it seems to come as a surprise. “No, 49! No, wait, wait, no, you’re right!” she says, eyes widening. How does it feel? “God, I … [her voice drops] Yeah … I’m 50 … [she trails off] Is that, like, a little bit older than middle age?” she asks me, as if it’s suddenly just dawned on her that she’s not 28 any more. She has, she says, noticed that when she overhears the younger kids talking to someone about her, “they say, ‘She’s a really nice lady,’ and just the word lady …” We both start laughing. “I know, right?”
Still, she looks as girlish as she always has: that gamine face, eyes ringed with black kohl. What’s her secret? Botox? Green juices? A picture stored away in the attic? “If you met my parents, I look like both of them, and I was really lucky genetically,” she says. She has always been “really waify” and “never had to exercise”, although in the past few years she has panicked slightly and bought a Pilates machine on the recommendation of her sister. “It’s the classic thing, when you’re young and people are, like, ‘Wait till you get older,’ and then you hit, like, 42 and your back starts … I wish I had listened. You can be waify and really out of shape. So I’m trying to incorporate some strengthening stuff. You still have to exercise, you have to look after the bones.”