Lowe’s High Bar
Lowe’s man in the mirror is familiar to anyone who’s watched him. As his Parks and Recreation alter ego, Chris Traeger, would say, he looks li-trilly unchanged. Consider the meme “Incredible timelapse gif showing Rob Lowe ageing [sic] over the last 30 years”, which is, in fact, a recent still image of him – psych. “I treat it as a compliment,” Lowe says, but he chafes at any suggestion that making time stand still is a passive endeavour. Lowe’s status as a real-life Dorian Gray is based on a rigorous exercise regimen, a dedication to a low-carb diet (last year he became a spokesman for Atkins, the eating plan that emphasises protein and healthy fats), and a love of outdoor sports. It doesn’t hurt that he is, by both professional and personal inclination, invested in self-care. (He launched Profile, a skin-care line including an under-eye serum, moisturiser, sunscreen and shaving gel in 2015.) Or that he’s open about his desire to look good. “Men deny having vanity – that’s the greatest vanity,” Lowe says. “Not me. I’m vain as fuck.”
Lowe remembers getting his first real taste of working out as a teenager while filming The Outsiders: he joined costars Emilio Estevez and Tom Cruise, who would drive 45 minutes to the one health club in Tulsa, Oklahoma, with Nautilus machines. “They were animals about it,” he recalls. “I was just kind of doing it because they were doing it.” His fascination with fitness took hold a few years later while he prepared to play a hungry hockey prospect in Youngblood. The role required him to bulk up, Lowe recalls: “It was the first time I ever had a trainer and did proper weight work.” He also skated and practised hockey, leaning over the boards to vomit. “It was brutal,” he says.
After reaching idol status, he went through a speed-freak phase, when he trained with the UCLA track team. As his penchant for partying grew, Lowe, one of the ’80s Brat Pack, would use fitness to plaster over his alcohol abuse, working out like a demon to reassure himself he didn’t have a problem. In his mind, no matter what wild stuff he did, if he could still run a 60-second 400 metres, he was fine. Inevitably, he could – and he still can today.
Stop The Clock
At 26, in 1990, Lowe managed to get sober, and exercise played a new role in his life. “It became an outlet for all of the tension, stresses, compulsivity,” he says. “I funnelled the addiction, frankly, into that.” Today, after 28 years of sobriety, Lowe’s devotion to fitness qualifies as a dependency in its own right. A typical day starts with a 45-minute Peloton bike ride or a run. He follows that with traditional lifting and circuit training. He prefers to exercise alone: “I don’t want to have the smoothie stand. I don’t want to look at beautiful women when I work out.”
For a long time, Lowe felt this routine meant he could eat whatever he wanted. As he approached 40, that started to change. He was aware of Robert Atkins, “from the beginning,” he says. He became a convert to the high-protein, low-carb plan. He scoffs at the thought that it’s a license to eat two massive burgers without buns, because as he practises it, Atkins is a program built to maintain, not yo-yo. He’s also experimenting with intermittent fasting, and often skips breakfast. His typical menu on no-breakfast days: Greek yoghurt, berries and nuts for a snack at 11:30am; chopped-chicken salad for lunch; and steak and vegetables for dinner. When we meet, he has just come from a fitting for his new show, Wild Bill. Normally a nerve-racking affair, it was no problem for Lowe, who has had the same measurements for 20 years.
In his lighter moments, Lowe admits he’s been scared skinny, driven by fear of a dad bod. Yet thanks to fatherhood, he’s found his way of combating it: surfing. Although Lowe grew up in Malibu, he only took up the sport at age 40 after his sons, Matthew and John Owen, did. “They got me into that, and I’ve gotten them back into the gym,” he says.
Surfing has offered Lowe proof that the immutable man is changing. “I had the best surf day of my life three days ago,” he says, describing his last session at a Santa Barbara break. “Set waves. Double overhead. Not a drop of wind. Pumping. Guys were getting barrelled.” He pauses to ponder the sport’s particular appeal to him as someone in recovery and obsessed with continuity. “You’re always chasing a high that you’re probably not going to ever repeat,” he says. “Conditions change, so no waves ever just stay the same. Nothing can ever stay the same. Nothing.”