https://www.nytimes.com/2018/09/14/magazine/maya-rudolph-snl-amazon-forever.html

Rudolph joined “S.N.L.” at the tail end of the 1999-2000 season, and it swiftly took over her life. “It was literally my everything,” she recalled. “My baby and my husband all at once. I cared about it more than my laundry or my food, which — neither were being well taken care of. I gave all my energy to that show. Plus you’re creating a new show every week, so it was just really intense — in a good way. In a way that I liked.”

The show was a place where trying out identities was not only allowed but also rewarded with applause. She curated an ever-diversifying portfolio of esteemed, wealthy black women: a room-dominating, lusty-voiced Oprah; a monotonous, pageant-calm Beyoncé; a cream-clad Whitney Houston who lived so fast she practically cast sparks; an elderly Maya Angelou whose vowels were poems.

Although they are not married, Rudolph refers to Anderson as “my husband” in conversation, as when a maître d’ told her that a man once introduced himself to the restaurant’s staff as “the unofficial mayor of the Valley” and Rudolph instantly blurted, “I hope it wasn’t my husband.” She said it felt “ooky” to keep referring to her long-term partner as her “boyfriend” after the birth of their daughter (they now have four children); she likes “husband” because “people know what that means. It means he’s the father of my child, and I live with him, and we are a couple, and we are not going anywhere.”

“His impression of me is the most upsetting impression I’ve heard,” she said, hunching her shoulders. In a voice that sounded like an irritated version of her own, but colored with Armisen’s intonation, she looked askance and asked: “ ‘Why am I cold?’ ” Everyone, she said, tells her the impression is valid. “Literally, I have more fun working with him than, like, most things in life.” While Armisen and Rudolph’s close friendship inspired them to collaborate again, the result is surprisingly macabre. “Forever” is saturated with death.

After her mother’s death, strangers started stopping Rudolph to share their emotional reactions with her, “about things,” she said, “that were really kind of intense, sometimes. Complete strangers would just be like: ‘I felt like she was this angel!’ And you’re like: ‘I’m 16. Why are you telling me about my dead mother?’ ” It happened so often that Rudolph wondered if she were drawing them out. “Honestly, I used to think — I was like, Do I have, like, a power?”

This is the thorny part of finding yourself in the public role of people’s fantasy friend: Your friends are everywhere, and they’d love to see you.