Justin Theroux may be a guy’s guy, but underneath his trademark black jeans and leather boots, he’s just a normal dude — a dude coming to terms with his newfound super fame while trying to convince the world to wear real shoes.
Justin, who graces the October cover of GQ, opened up about how he’s trying to find some semblance of normalcy in his high-profile relationship, beginning with the move he’s making from his own apartment to the multi-million dollar mansion he just purchased with fiancee Jennifer Aniston.
To start with, Justin’s trying to figure out just what a born-and-raised city boy is going to do with the six chickens that came with his new Bel Air abode. “We inherited the chickens from the previous owners. They were like, ‘Of course we’ll get rid of the chickens,’ and we said, ‘Are you crazy? Don’t get rid of the chickens. That’s half the reason we wanted this place.’”
While Justin, who started his career as a painter, has a relatively no-nonsense approach to life, there are a few things that still get to him, although it’s not the constant media presence that comes with his relationship.
“I have a real issue with the makers of Tevas,” he says. “Not only should there never be Velcro on any shoe; there should not be Velcro and neoprene on a shoe. Then there definitely should not be Velcro, neoprene, and some sort of beaded Indian print. I know: They’re comfortable. Lots of things are comfortable. I could put my feet in kneaded dough and walk down the street. That’s comfortable, but I’m not going to do it, you know? Ridiculous.”
However, he still seems charmingly bemused, rather than irate, about the paparazzi attention his relationship has garnered. “It’s a bit like going to a slightly different altitude, you know?” he says of his romance. Regarding the paparazzi —“I call them photojournalists, actually,” — he admits, it can be a bit odd, particularly “when I get complimented on the street because I’m having twins.”
Despite the pressure the media puts on him, his passionate, blood-boiling rage is still directed at the right people: men in sandals. “There’s these guys you see just walking through SoHo with big mops of hair, wearing flannel pants and flip–flops on their way to Montauk. And you think, ‘Who the hell are you? What do you do?’ F—king surfboard on the top of the Range Rover.”