Emma Corrin asks if I’m familiar with the concept of the Saturn return, the theory that in our late 20s we experience a period of transition, of personal growth, a shift that marks the giant step into adulthood. I’ve heard of it, I say. “It’s a realigning of, like, what you want to do and who you are,” the actor, who is 28, explains. Anyway: “I think I’m in the middle of it. I’m not a massive astrology person, but I feel like I am going mad this year. Like, I’m starting to doubt everything – what I’m doing with my work, who I am as a person. Am I a good enough friend? Am I good enough partner? Am I a good enough actor? Am I doing the right thing? And suddenly all these questions have descended, and the ground that I’m standing on is so unstable and it feels like such an existential crisis.”
Corrin is sitting across from me in a pink-tiled cafe in Margate, Kent. Unless you count the occasional shiver from not wearing a jacket (Margate not as warm as you might expect of a seaside town in June) and the speed at which they speak – about 1.2 x the average – Corrin displays no outward expression of a person on the verge of crisis, existential or otherwise. What I see is gamine beauty, somehow enhanced by the spot sticker under the fringe; someone who talks about insecurity, but locks eye contact to make a fierce point. Someone who loves fashion (and is the face of Miu Miu), but is also more than happy to wear the same thing every day, like this soft-cotton red shirt and these old jeans. Someone who, when we meet a second time in London, looks immaculate but gives me a glimpse of the charming chaos of their handbag – tobacco pouch, more spot stickers, parking ticket, all spilling forth.
