Jon Hamm has arranged for us to meet for breakfast at what must be one of Vancouver's most opulent hotel restaurants. All wood-and-gold midcentury mod, it's the sort of place Don Draper, the hard-drinking, never-not-dashing Eisenhower-era adman Hamm played on
Mad Men, would frequent—that is, if he were Canadian, lived in the 21st century, and had a soft spot for nouvelle cuisine.
Hamm arrives looking less than Draper-iffic. It's not likely that he's hungover—he had a stint in rehab for alcohol abuse three years ago—but he's battling the onset of a cold. His outfit is a triumph of comfort over style, perhaps best described as Rejected L.L. Bean Model: broken-in dad jeans, running shoes with miles on them, and a shawl-collared wool sweater the fishermen working on the freighter ships docked in Vancouver Bay would probably dig. Either Hamm is in the early stages of growing a beard or he woke up the last couple mornings, looked at his razor, and thought,
Screw it.
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