Thought you knew Drew Bar­ry­more? Pre­pare to fall in love all over again.

We grew up cap­ti­vated by Drew Bar­ry­more’s sweet smile—now we rec­og­nize the ac­tress, mother and en­tre­pre­neur’s steely strength.

Elle (Canada) - - News - By Kathryn Hud­son

DREW BAR­RY­MORE sits down at one of her favourite restau­rants on Nan­tucket, flick­ing the white table­cloth away from her long skirt. The pink walls match her cheeks. There is an em­bar­rass­ment of roses on the ta­ble. It’s fem­i­nine and warm and cheer­ful; for those of us who grew up seem­ingly along­side Bar­ry­more, it’s just the way you’d ex­pect lunch with the ac­tress to be. She punc­tu­ates her ex­cite­ment by propos­ing a toast at least three times dur­ing lunch, send­ing sprays of bub­bles sail­ing up out of her flute of cham­pagne.

It’s easy to re­call her six-year-old face in E.T.— that sweet­ness is still there. At 39, Bar­ry­more is un­de­ni­ably pow­er­ful. The once vul­ner­a­ble, lisp­ing child star spent 20 years build­ing a pro­duc­tion com­pany called Flower, which has net­ted rev­enues in the bil­lions. Now Bar­ry­more has shifted gears again, throw­ing her cre­ative spirit into a fast-grow­ing line of at­tain­ably priced cos­met­ics, also named Flower. In her spare time, she pro­duces epony­mous vin­tages of Pinot Gri­gio.

Suc­cess is ob­vi­ously a driv­ing force for Bar­ry­more—in busi­ness, as a new mother and in her re­la­tion­ship with her art-con­sul­tant hus­band, Will Kopel­man. But the pur­suit of per­fec­tion has never seemed to con­cern the free-spir­ited ac­tress much. “I’m im­per­fect,” she says with a smile. “I’m not a life­style guru, I’m not like ‘Go do this workout.’ I’m dread­ing swim­suit sea­son just as much as the next guy.”

As grand­daugh­ter to film le­gend John Bar­ry­more—not to men­tion god­daugh­ter to Steven Spiel­berg and god­mother to Frances Bean Cobain—Bar­ry­more was born

into one of the most hal­lowed Hol­ly­wood fam­i­lies of all time. Yet she prefers “end­less ex­haust­ing work” to the prospect of com­fort­ably coast­ing on her fam­ily’s legacy. “I’ve been knocked down and hum­bled very much in my life. That’s why I don’t think things stay without work­ing hard for them,” she ex­plains sim­ply. Bar­ry­more fell into drugs and al­co­hol when she was a child, went to re­hab at 14, got en­gaged at 16 and later was briefly mar­ried to comic Tom Green. But she’s not bat­tling child­hood demons any­more. “I’m not the same per­son I was when I was 16, thank God!” she says. “Ev­ery­thing does change and evolve—I don’t want to fight any of it. I like life so much more ev­ery year.”

Now the once self-de­scribed hip­pie speaks about “the rules and fi­nances and func­tions” of busi­ness with an un­ex­pected rev­er­ence. Un­fairly, per­haps, I had ex­pected the girl who spent much of the ’90s with a daisy tucked be­hind her ear to be read­ing a dog-eared copy of The Se­cret— not sound­ing like an ex­cerpt from in­vestor Warren Buf­fett’s mem­oir.

When I men­tion The Se­cret, Bar­ry­more bris­tles. “Oh, God, here I’m go­ing to get in trou­ble,” she says with a laugh. “Per­son­ally, sit­ting around and wish­ing does not work for me. Zero things in my life have oc­curred by dream­ing and hop­ing with fin­gers crossed and eyes scrunched. It’s to­tally, like, work­ing on a week­end when I don’t want to; it’s ap­ply­ing my­self end­lessly.”

Tina Fey fa­mously said that the rud­est thing you can ask a woman is how she bal­ances ev­ery­thing, be­cause no one is ask­ing her hus­band that. Bar­ry­more, mother of Olive, two, and Frankie, nearly six months, has been raked over the crit­i­cal coals for an­swer­ing that very ques­tion. “I’ve got­ten in mas­sive trou­ble for say­ing ‘You can’t have it all.’ Peo­ple were just fu­ri­ous with me. I feel ter­ri­ble—can I ad­just it to ‘You can’t do it all?’ Be­cause I can’t. I can’t do ev­ery­thing and have it be done well and feel good about all of it. Ev­ery­thing’s go­ing to get wa­tered down; not ev­ery­thing’s go­ing to get enough power be­hind it. I don’t want to be at work think­ing I’m not spend­ing enough time with my kids; I don’t want to aban­don ev­ery­thing I’ve ever done in my life now be­cause I have a fam­ily. I just know that my kids are go­ing to come first—they’re go­ing to get the ma­jor­ity of ev­ery­thing—and then what I have left over is go­ing to have to get very stream­lined.”

It’s ob­vi­ous that the con­tro­versy shook Bar­ry­more up a bit—af­ter all, she’s “such a cel­e­bra­tor” of women. But the de­bate didn’t make her hes­i­tant about her choices. “I don’t think pri­or­i­tiz­ing is a com­pro­mise,” she says. “I think it can ac­tu­ally be quite re­ward­ing to one’s life, so you’re not spread so thin and stressed out and do­ing ev­ery­thing halfassed. I think it was kind of a bless­ing to do that.”

In fact, in re­cent years, Bar­ry­more has for­gone her “con­sum­ing, 24-7” work of pro­duc­ing, di­rect­ing and star­ring in films (de­spite a re­cent and not ter­ri­bly well-re­ceived re­union with Adam San­dler for Blended). In­stead, she’s fo­cus­ing on projects like Flower cos­met­ics that al­low her to work from home more of­ten—even if that means oc­ca­sion­ally burst­ing into tears dur­ing a phone meet­ing be­cause she’s “knee-deep in a di­a­per and some­thing just fell in the kitchen.”

I ask what it feels like to be the boss, es­pe­cially dur­ing mo­ments of tu­mult. “I don’t think of my­self as the boss, be­cause that’s an ego thing,” she says, smooth­ing her denim top. “The ego is such a ter­ri­ble place to work from in any area of your life— in mar­riage, in busi­ness.... It’s toxic, ac­tu­ally.” Does that mean she shirks the power that comes with run­ning a multi-tiered em­pire? She flashes her lop­sided smile. “I love be­ing a leader—but I never think of my­self as the boss. There’s a huge dif­fer­ence,” she says. “I love to pas­sion­ately, ar­tic­u­lately fight for my ideas. I know that I can push my be­liefs, even if it’s an­noy­ing and staunch.”

Bar­ry­more’s im­age is about as an­tag­o­nis­tic as a golden-re­triever pup, but I won­der if she

strug­gles with the rusty stereo­type that brands ex­act­ing women as bitches. She merely shrugs. “You can’t be sex­ist-ob­sessed go­ing into [busi­ness] be­cause then you’re con­stantly go­ing to be com­pen­sat­ing in a man’s world, and it just isn’t about that,” she ex­plains. “You want to just be some­one who has the con­fi­dence to put your ideas out there.... Fo­cus on that. Not like, ‘Damn it, I haven’t had this’ or ‘Men get to do this.’ Strip that away. Do you ac­tu­ally have the goods to back up an idea?”

Wisely, she used her five years as a Cover­Girl spokesper­son to gain in­sight into the com­pet­i­tive cos­met­ics in­dus­try. Now, a cream blush sit­ting on the ta­ble (she brought sam­ples of Flower to show me be­cause the line is launch­ing in Canada this month in Wal­mart) catches her eye. “Moth­er­fucker, this is go­ing to get dis­con­tin­ued!” she says with a sigh. “I’m so up­set be­cause women don’t un­der­stand this prod­uct. It’s the most beau­ti­ful dark rose, and it ac­tu­ally cre­ates con­tour while blush­ing.” She shakes her head. “It’s so in­fu­ri­at­ing.”

Bar­ry­more is part of a strong cir­cle of women, in­clud­ing her film-pro­duc­tion part­ner, Nancy Ju­vo­nen, who act as her sound­ing board and have

“I want us to be as good to our­selves as we are to each other or the peo­ple we love.”

sup­ported her since she was a kid. Her friends’ de­vo­tion is well pub­li­cized: Cameron Diaz, a more re­cent ad­di­tion to the group, cut a ra­dio in­ter­view short in July when the host joked about Bar­ry­more’s teenage drug ad­dic­tion. “They were my fam­ily be­fore I got to be in a fam­ily. They’re like the first loves of my life,” says Bar­ry­more, eyes pool­ing with tears. “Oh, God, I miss my friends so much.... Sleep­overs go away, and you only see each other when you can.” In­stead, she “works hard at friend­ships” by plan­ning an­nual group va­ca­tions and, when­ever they’re in the same city, ro­tat­ing din­ner par­ties. “I make a lot of pas­tas for ev­ery­body,” she says, shak­ing off a wave of emo­tion with a bright smile. “If I’m just ser­vic­ing one caul­dron, I’m much bet­ter than, like, mak­ing fish and salad and sides—I can’t do that.”

Though Bar­ry­more is adamant she’s not some life­style swami, her voice be­comes as soft as vel­vet when she talks about try­ing to em­power women. “We, as women, are so hard on our­selves,” she says. “I want us to be as good to our­selves as we are to each other or our kids or the peo­ple we love.” She is al­most plead­ing, talk­ing past me. “It doesn’t have to do with, like, ‘Take a spa day.’ But in your qui­etest mo­ments, when no­body is look­ing and no one can hear you, say some­thing less mean to your­self. Stop com­par­ing your­self to ev­ery­one and fo­cus­ing on what you wish you could change.” She takes a breath and gath­ers her­self, lit by the one golden ray of sun­shine stream­ing through the win­dow. “I don’t want my daugh­ters to see me worry so much as I do. As far as they’re con­cerned, I’m a danc­ing id­iot and they can’t be­lieve I carry the back­pack of so much anx­i­ety. But they’re go­ing to be teenagers even­tu­ally.”

Bar­ry­more’s rocky for­ma­tive years, pep­pered with ca­reer highs and emo­tional lows, re­sulted in a dis­tant re­la­tion­ship with her mother. (Her fa­ther passed away in 2004.) “It’s a blue­print of what I wouldn’t want to do, un­for­tu­nately,” she says. “But it doesn’t feel sad or bad to me. It’s just that I wouldn’t want my kids to be in the pub­lic eye; I wouldn’t want them to be raised with a sin­gle par­ent, al­though I ad­mire my mom for be­ing one. That’s why I waited to have kids. I wanted to know who I was go­ing to be and who I was go­ing to be with.”

Af­ter meet­ing her hus­band, whose fa­ther was the CEO of Chanel for nearly 20 years, she re­al­ized they had dif­fer­ent up­bring­ings but sim­i­lar val­ues. (Al­though her last-minute pre-va­ca­tion pack­ing made him crazy. She now neatly packs the night be­fore and doesn’t hes­i­tate to gloat when she beats him to it.)

“I just want my kids to go to school, you know?” she says. “I’m very tra­di­tional, re­ally man­ner ori­ented, very sched­ule driven—to­tally the op­po­site of ev­ery­thing I grew up with. But I’m glad I am who I am, and maybe I wouldn’t be as fa­nat­i­cal about those things had I not had such an ex­treme po­lar­ity of that.”

It’s at night in bed, some­times af­ter watch­ing an episode of The Col­bert Re­port, that Bar­ry­more al­lows her­self to ex­hale com­pletely. “When I feel like ev­ery­body feels loved and I re­ally got to watch them all day and ev­ery­body’s go­ing to bed with a smile on their face—that’s the best feel­ing in the world. When I’m so tired but I’m just like ‘Ev­ery­one’s happy.’” She stops, rub­bing her teary eyes and blam­ing the hor­mones that come with re­cent moth­er­hood. “Know­ing that to­mor­row will never be ex­actly the same as today—that’s when I’m the hap­pi­est.”

Flower Lip Suede Vel­vet Lip Chubby in Coral Flo­ral and Berry-more ($7.98 each); Flower Eyes on the Prize Eye­shadow Chubby in Teal We Meet Again and Olive My Love ($7.98 each). For de­tails, see Shop­ping Guide.

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