A piece by Amanda Montell
It’s Saturday afternoon, and I’m standing in a crystal shop next to an amethyst the size of a grandfather clock, waiting for Mandy Moore.
It’s hard to explain, but today at 2 p.m., Mandy and I have an appointment with a mystic named Kate, who is scheduled to “read our auras.” As in, take a photograph of Mandy Moore’s aura, take a photograph of my aura, and then tell us what they mean. Trust me when I say this isn’t a normal weekend activity for me. Or for Mandy, as it turns out. (“Have you ever done this before?” are the first words out of her mouth. She hasn’t, and neither have I.)
It has already been one of the strangest weeks in history—the election was less than four days ago—so when the opportunity arises to interview my childhood pop icon, it feels natural to do something outside the box. I should probably be surprised when Mandy agrees to meet me, a perfect stranger, at an unfamiliar location 10 miles from her Hollywood apartment to have a silver-haired woman in palazzo pants scrutinize her spiritual character. But something about it feels like kismet. At 2 p.m. on the dot, Mandy walks through the door.