She grew up reading Charles Bukowski and Viktor Frankl, listening to Tom Waits and Leonard Cohen, and riding dirt bikes. Johnson is the only child the couple share.
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Soon after Johnson’s birth, her dad’s movie wrapped, and the new family went home to Aspen. “My mom hosted SNL,” Johnson says, “and they had gotten back together for the, I don’t know, millionth time, and that night-after she hosted-my dad proposed for the second time, and then I guess I was conceived.” It’s better to be kind, and it’s also really nice that everybody actually really loves each other and has each other’s backs.” I don’t want any kids to experience anything like that. “Obviously, there were times where it was not cool, but I experienced that, so I don’t want that in my life. “We were all cool.” With each other, she means. “Maybe I think about relationships like that differently because I grew up in my family,” she says. She is one of seven half siblings, and Martin shares two teenagers with Gwyneth Paltrow.
Johnson and Martin guard their privacy, partly because theirs is a big, blended family and partly because of Johnson’s upbringing. She calls the car Dixie, and if she’s ever in a crash she plans to tell people, “My Dixie wrecked.” Say it out loud.
Johnson swims and zips up and down the Pacific Coast Highway in a 1965 Mustang he gave her a few years ago for her birthday. I’m going to cut my hair and get a puppy,’ which I did,” she says. “She’s here!” The crowd, and the internet, went wild. In October, while onstage in London, Martin pointed to her in the balcony as he introduced a new song called “My Universe.” “This is about my universe,” he said. Johnson tours with him when she’s not working. They met through a friend and have “never really left each other,” she says. Johnson and Martin have been together almost five years. With the sun striking behind her, it could be Jane Birkin from La Piscine walking with me. The actor is wearing some delicate jewelry a blue tie-dye sweater from the Elder Statesman the kind of perfect vintage Levi’s that a dozen women are, at any given moment, scouring the shops of Topanga Canyon for and a pair of fancier-than-usual collab-looking Birkenstocks. 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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