Reese Witherspoon is Vogue's November cover girl, and there are a few Jake Gyllenhaal tidbits in the story. Plus some gorgeous photos of Reese.
Along the Avenue Montaigne again, this time at Theyskens's atelier, where Reese is dressed in a bustier-like Nina Ricci dress that, aside from being sexy, is a work of art. The mirrors of Theyskens's office have become a spiraling prism of Reese Witherspoon in black, complemented by Olivier's long, raven-black hair. She is talking about dinner the night before, when her boyfriend, Jake Gyllenhaal (who dropped by during makeup), wrote cute remarks in the restaurant's guest book (something about French melons), which his girlfriend found charming, her smile now bubbling like champagne in a black crepe flute. "He wrote, 'Vive la France!' " she says, laughing. Ah, Paris and love!
On Bastille Day, Reese is at another café. She has done her share of cafés in Paris. "It's the first time I've taken my kids," she says. She believes in taking the kids. "My girlfriend was saying the other day that it's like that famous Mark Twain line, about how travel is fatal to bigotry and narrow-mindedness—I'm paraphrasing, but it's something like that." Travel is also good for discovering croissants, crepes, and macaroons. Also for introducing her son to the toy boats at the Jardin du Luxembourg, or the French sewer tour. And then there's the Métro, a five-year-old boy's thrill. "He goes from one stop to another; it makes his day," Reese says, beaming. And on that very evening, as the French celebrated, she and Monsieur Gyllenhaal would take her nine-year-old daughter out late to see the fireworks—the Seine glowing, the Eiffel Tower a sparkler.
As far as the boyfriend goes, she doesn't like to talk about him so much, and it can make you feel a little tabloid about asking. Still, this is Paris, city of light and love, and if you've heard the song by Carla Bruni about French president Nicolas Sarkozy—"I give you my body, my soul, and my chrysanthemum/For I am yours/You are my lord/You're my darling/You're my orgy/You're my folly"—then you figure, what the heck, it's Paris. You ask. "He's very supportive," she says. You press her. "Suffice it to say, I'm very happy in life, and I'm very lucky to have a lot of really supportive people around me who care very much for me, and, you know, that's all you can hope for in life. I am very blessed in that way."
She will tell you that she was with the guy she'd rather not blab about some weeks earlier—in Rome, speaking of beautiful cities—and that one night they went out to see the Trevi Fountain. It was late, it was beautiful, and she threw a coin in and made a wish. What did she wish for? Come on. Do you really think she's going to tell you that? "If I tell you," she says, "it won't come true."
(I know it's not the Trevi, but hey, they managed to go unpapped on the trip she's mentioning!)
And because I can't resist:
(Pictures courtesy of Vogue and IHJ and flickr.)