We earn a commission for products purchased through some links in this article. It's a warm October day in New York City, but the locals drifting in and out of the lounge at the Greenwich Hotel are fully committed to their cosy autumnal aesthetic. Tom Holland sits in a striped silk armchair near the fireplace. He is wearing white On running shoes, wide-leg trousers and an ivory sweatshirt that he quickly peels off, issuing a muffled apology from within the fabric as his t-shirt rises with it.
Behind him are shelves of ancient books and a taxidermied antelope head. He is lit from the right by the fire and a lamp with a large, red shade, and every divot in his face, especially the cleft in his chin, is deeply shadowed. He looks primed for a live reading of one of the tomes behind him. I am studying Holland for signs of unusual rizz formerly known as charisma.
Zendaya knows this. Everyone knows this. To be clear, I see that the year-old British actor has the obvious prerequisites for rizz: he is charming and intelligent and confident. But sequestered in the corner of the hotel lounge, he gives me the impression not of suavity but of intense sincerity. In fact, he is emerging from a year-long break from acting. His sabbatical was a page break before a new chapter, one in which he is better positioned to both continue his rapid ascent in Hollywood and enjoy the life it has bought him.
He owns a house in London, just a few miles from where he grew up in Kingston-upon-Thames, which he fills with friends and family. He does carpentry, and he golfs habitually and very well his handicap is 2.
He and his two brothers recently played in a tournament with pro golfer Tommy Fleetwood and won. He and Zendaya share a dog, Noon, and recently got another, a doberman named Daphne. What he has is much harder to fake. At this point, in the celebrity arms race for products, we have all witnessed actors suddenly turning robotic when discussing their new brands, but Holland becomes more animated when he talks about Bero.
