Tracee Ellis Ross is a true delight, weathering the storm of Vogue’s inane and occasionally mind-numbing series in which a cameraman follows a famous person around asking a set of 73 agreed-upon questions with zest, vim, and vigor.
She favors alarms with “strings.” Her favorite time of day is between 3 and 6:30 p.m.—the best time of day for napping, for cocktails, for taking a bath, and for having sex. She uses four kinds of salt, is passionate about lemonade, and keeps her Golden Globe in the kitchen, next to a statue of Buddha. She’s open and kind and endures what some might feel is an agreed-upon invasion of privacy as if she’s actually enjoying it! She probably is.
For reasons unbeknownst— completely unbeknownst!—her brother, Evan Ross and his wife, Ashlee Simpson Ross, are sitting in her dining room, “waiting.” What they’re waiting for is never quite clear; even though you know the “event” that she’s “late” for is really a reason for her brother and her sister-in-law to insert themselves into this narrative it’s still charming.