When Sydney Sweeney puts her mind to something, you better believe she’s going to do it. So, when she woke up one morning this year and made a pledge to herself to be more present, that’s what she damn well did. ‘I decided I was just gonna soak up every single moment and be so thankful. And I’ve been doing that,’ she tells me on a Monday morning in New York.
Specifically it’s the first Monday in May, which means ‘today I’m allowing myself to be, like, “Oh my God, I’m going to the Met [Gala]!”’ We are sitting on a sofa in Sweeney’s suite at The Carlyle, which on Met day, like its Upper East Side neighbour The Mark, is the unofficial pre-game HQ. Inside, the lobby and corridors are a hive of industrious assistants; outside, throngs of photographers and fans already crowd the streets waiting for a glimpse of their favourite A-listers — including a better-late-than-never Rihanna and A$AP Rocky — on their way to the ball. Right now, bar a knock from her stylist’s assistant and a call from reception (‘Someone wants to drop off a champagne, I don’t know!’ she says with a lol-this-is-all-so-weird look), it’s just me, Sweeney and Tank, her beloved dog that she rescued eight years ago.
