I've made a decision: I'm gonna live in Morocco for one year. I need a new crowd. Do you wanna come? Abigail Weston may have uttered those words while under the guise of Almost Famous' Penny Lane, but the message inspired the Vogue team to pack our bags, borrow a world-renowned actress and steal away to the glorious Western Sahara for a weekend of film-talk and, naturally, fashion.
Thursday, 11:40PM. The pilot has just announced ten minutes to landing. As the plane approaches the Moroccan capital of Rabat, our leading lady, the ethereal Abby Weston, looks no less for wear. Hair that has suffered the agony of hours of travel suddenly, with some clever brushing and bobby-pinning, looks fresh again. What's more, having wisely tucked a veil-thin shift dress into her handbag, her outfit is now crisp and ready. Clearly, we are dealing with a veteran traveler.
Friday, 6:50AM. Considering the late hour of our arrival, it is sinfully early to be awake and ready for work. Yet when I find Abby in her suite's living room, she is already dressed in a Rag&Bone minidress and enjoying a notably Europeanized spread of waffles, croissants and orange juice. But where's the coffee? "Oh, I avoid it. Coffee gives me these terrible jitters. Maybe I'm not cut out to be a hardcore Starbucks junkie." She motions for me to sit beside her on the plush sofa and, for the fifteen-odd minutes of free time, we continue an earlier chat about travel. While listing our dream destinations (Palau is sits atop her list) the rest of the team slowly shows up. Once everyone has assembled, we set off to capture the first photos of the journey.
11:15AM. Far from the fresh-faced girl of this morning, our star now dons full makeup, expertly tousled hair and a classic white Oxford shirt, belted and tucked into a breathtaking floor-length skirt. As an assistant carefully positions the skirt's hem in the grass, I ask Abigail if she'd spent much time in the countryside while growing up in South Africa. "Not really. My father would sometimes let me tag along when he worked. [Albert Weston is a retired anthropologist, Jane Weston is an engineer.] But aside from then, I stayed in the city with my mother. The country was nearing the end of an extremely difficult period, so I think it was just safer to keep me in one spot." The photographer suddenly cuts in, ready to start, so I retreat to the group and watch as the first breath-taking shots are captured.
Saturday, 9:20AM. Since today's schedule is clear, I prepare to spend the morning grilling Abigail about her upcoming films, the charities she's currently involved in, and her new status as the face of Chanel's Coco Mademoiselle. However, upon entering her room, it is clear the questions will have to wait. Abby is seated on her bed, brow furrowed, one hand clutching the telephone while the other nervously twists and untwists the cord. My "Take your time, I'll wait outside" gesture is met with a fervent yet friendly shake of the head; Abby waves me back into the room. Soon enough, she hangs up and leans back against the headboard with a groan. "I'm so sorry, that was my father. Wallace is sick." Wallace Weston, of course, is the actress' three-year old beagle. "Apparently, he ate a tray of Lindt chocolates -- a whole tray! Poor thing was ill all over my parents' house but dad says he's better now." She sighs, beginning to finger-comb hair that is still wet from a shower. "I already feel dreadful whenever he gets left behind. Now he's sick and I can't really do anything about it."
Clearly, the stress of Abigail's career manifests itself in different ways. As a successful actress, jet-setting across the world and spending weeks on location for a film are invariably part of the territory. "Sure, sometimes it's hard to go home and unpack your things, knowing full well you'll just be re-packing them a week later. The job is the job and, at the end of the day, I'm terribly fortunate." Considering the steadfast rate at which Abigail has been turning out films -- often two a year for the roughly the last decade -- I wonder if she ever plans to take any significant time off from work. "Gosh, ever?" She laughs. "I should hope so! In the meantime, though, I'm signed onto a few really exciting projects. And I would quite like to try theatre sometime soon, and writing too. I suppose a long vacation isn't in the cards for a while." 12:00PM. Abby takes a few minutes to check up on Wallace. We're still sitting in her vast bedroom, the patio door opened all the way. I notice a handful of dresses hanging on the arm of a chair. Peering closer, I read some familiar names: Matthew Williamson, Stella McCartney and, unsurprisingly, Chanel. Since 2006, her red carpet attire has almost exclusively come from Chanel and, more recently, Abigail has literally become the face of the fashion house, appearing in their latest fragrance campaign. However, judging by her modest attitude, one would never peg her as a budding fashionista. She later concedes that fashion is, in her opinion, a vital form of artistic expression.
"Loads of people categorize fashion as frivolous or superficial, but I've slowly learned of its merits. Not unlike film, fashion tells a story. Just by putting on a coat or gown, you sometimes feel its narrative seep into you. In terms of authenticity, wardrobe is a crucial and ultimately very helpful detail." Agreed.
As the hours pass, our discussion of movies continues. In addition to Factory Girl, The Break-Up is also being released this year, in which Abigail takes on a leading comedic role for the first time in years. A gutsy move, but there is no doubting she will deliver. If our short time in Africa has proven anything, it's her unwavering spirit and professionalism. Whether she is holding a pose in a river or simply being punctual for a meeting, Abby Weston lives up to her responsibility. Though our visit nears its end -- tomorrow offers another day of shooting, then, Monday, we depart -- I sincerely look forward to seeing the lovely actress in the future. Though, next time, she will likely be on the big screen.
"After your first few dozens of trips abroad, tricks for looking presentable become second-nature," she explains kindly while applying some Burt's Bees lip balm. "But it's all a lovely illusion; inside, I feel like hell." Abigail smiles and only for the briefest moment do her eyes reveal any inner exhaustion. We all buckle up -- fourteen of us in total have skipped out on dreary mid-Winter Manhattan to visit the famed African country. Just as the wheels land with a resounding thud, Abigail turns to me. "This is my first time in Morocco. I've intended to come for years but never seemed to find the time. Now Vogue is taking me. Isn't it funny how some things work themselves out?" This time, her smile is a hint more wistful before she fixes her gaze out the window.
The only element that could possibly trump her awe-inspiring look is our surrounding -- a vast plain of tall grass and sparse trees, which we drove two hours to reach. The sky, the earth and the mountains merge seamlessly into a natural work of art. One glimpse at these sights confirms that the long car ride was very much worth the effort.
When discussing her career, Abigail's voice is assertive, her expression lively. Small trials of her will do not deflect the young girl's overall goals -- a testament to her maturity.