Amy Schumer Is Rich, Famous, and in Love: Can She Keep Her Edge? – Vanity Fair

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A couple of weeks later Schumer and I met for an interview at her apartment, on a pleasant but nondescript block of the Upper West Side. It was well after dark. We met on the sidewalk after she pulled up in an S.U.V., driven home after another long day at the Midtown production office. Her apartment, recently purchased, is at the top of several flights of stairs, and as we entered and she turned on the lights, she apologized for its being a mess, explaining that a girlfriend had crashed on her couch the previous night after a fight with a boyfriend. In Schumer’s words, “We got into a meatball sub and some scotch last night. Like, I’m not going to let her get drunk alone.” Which is exactly the kind of thing you’d hope Amy Schumer would say by way of introduction. But aside from a casually strewn blanket, the apartment didn’t look like a mess to me—certainly not what you’d expect the “Amy Schumer” character’s to look like after a long night of female bonding. (No array of little airplane booze bottles. No empty trays of Double Stuf Oreos.) The apartment, with its odd angles and eccentric layout, reminded me of the kind of funky-charming New York apartments that young single people somehow land in movies and TV shows but almost never in real life—a perfect pad for Holly Golightly or Rachel Green. Schumer’s Emmy and Peabody Awards looked nice on the shelves.

I also noticed multiple framed pictures of Schumer and a gang of girlfriends. Their faces were even smiling from the cover of a throw pillow. “It’s all my friends from high school—these girls, these monsters,” Schumer said, with affection. “They’re afraid I’m going to forget about them. So, like, they keep buying me things, to remind me of them.” She said that she had made sure to introduce them all, seven in total, to Jennifer Lawrence, her newest friend. (The two had made headlines vacationing in the Hamptons with Schumer’s girlfriends over the summer.) She also said that a chunk of her afternoon that day had been devoted to wrangling tickets for the entire group to the premiere of Lawrence’s final Hunger Games movie, which was taking place the next night. “I was like, ‘I have to bring all my friends from high school.’ They”—Lawrence’s people—“were like, ‘Are you serious?’ I was like, ‘Yeah, if I go and don’t bring them, it’ll be an issue.’ ”

I mention this because, as with the Starbucks sketch, Schumer seemed very consciously torn between who she had been for the first 30-odd years of her life and where work, fame, and opportunity seem to be taking her. She said that her schedule was fully booked through July, “things on top of things,” what with the sketch show, stand-up appearances, film work, events, fund-raisers, promotional obligations. She was grateful … but. “I love all the things that I’m doing,” she said, “but that all my time is accounted for? I’m not Joan Rivers, where I’m like, ‘A full calendar is happiness.’ I would love to do nothing, like waking up and not knowing what you’re going to do that day.” She sighed. “The other day I was so overwhelmed I left work an hour early and I just went and watched Labyrinth on my sister’s couch.” Labyrinth? The 1986 Jim Henson movie in which David Bowie played a goblin king with a wig that made him look like an evil blond mushroom? “It was a big deal in our house growing up,” Schumer said with a rare trace of sheepishness. “It holds up. I mean, the movie’s weird, but it just felt so good to just lay there, while it was still light out, and watch a movie.”

By her account, Schumer logs a lot of time on her sister’s couch. Kim Caramele, who lives just 10 blocks from Schumer, is younger by nearly four years, is married (to Vincent Caramele, whom she met as a freshman at Pace University in Westchester; Amy was one of two witnesses at Kim’s courthouse wedding), and is not to be confused, not entirely, with the younger married sister named Kim in Trainwreck, who was played by Brie Larson. The real sisters get along better than their movie counterparts, and have since they were girls. Amy was born on the Upper East Side, but following a financial setback the family moved to Long Island, where Kim was born and where the girls were constant companions growing up in various towns, including Rockville Centre and South Hempstead; according to Kim, they even worked side by side as teenagers and young women in the same bars and restaurants, making their way from Turquoise, a boardwalk joint in Long Beach, to the Stanton Social, a scene-y Lower East Side restaurant where—if for some reason you want to—you can order Philly-cheesesteak sliders with truffle-and-goat-cheese fondue. Amy and Kim remain constant companions, their only significant hiatus aside from college (Amy went to Towson University, in Baltimore) being the four years when Caramele moved to Chicago, where she worked as a school psychologist. But Schumer talked her into moving to New York to work on the second season of Inside Amy Schumer, where Caramele continues as a writer and producer (as does, in the latter capacity, her husband, Vincent). Kim was also a producer on Trainwreck and the HBO special, and the sisters have collaborated on a screenplay for a mother-daughter comedy, re-writing an original script by Katie Dippold (The Heat and the forthcoming Ghostbusters reboot); that project will star Schumer and Goldie Hawn and is scheduled to begin shooting May 23 with director Jonathan Levine (The Night Before, Warm Bodies).

Followers of Schumer’s Twitter and Instagram accounts, where she often posts pictures of herself and Kim, know Caramele as #roadmanager, a nickname she acquired when she worked for her sister in that capacity after she joined the staff of Inside Amy Schumer. “I’d go to all her [stand-up] shows,” Caramele said. “I was really the liaison between her and the venues. I’d talk to the venue, make sure that everything was O.K., that she had everything she needed, that the house was opening on time. Which is funny, as one thinks back on it, because usually when you see people and their managers, they don’t look like me. I would show up in sweatpants and braids, and people would be like, ‘Who the fuck is this girl?’ I’d be”—she affected an angry, manager-y voice—“ ‘This stool doesn’t have a back and it should.’ And they’d be, ‘Uh, what … ?’ But it made sense because I wanted everything to go well because I love her and care about her. It was a really natural protective thing for me to do.”

I told Caramele that it sounded as if she helped keep her sister on an even keel. Not exactly, Kim replied. “She’s not like this dramatic person who will call me with problems every night. She doesn’t call for emotional support. It’s more like if she tweets something or posts a picture of herself on Instagram sitting on a toilet, I’ll text her and be like, ‘Babe … ?’ And she’ll be like, ‘Sorry!’ She used to ask me, like, ‘Can I tweet this?’ And I’d be, ‘No!’ But now she doesn’t ask me and I just yell at her after the fact.”

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Amy Schumer Is Rich, Famous, and in Love: Can She Keep Her Edge? – Vanity Fair