“The Southbank is about as London-y as it gets,” Kit Connor tells me. As I meet him outside Shakespeare’s Globe – his floppy copper locks concealed by a green cap which also partly obscures his face – it’s easy to forget I’m meeting one of the world’s leading new acting talents from the last year. However, on The Southbank, he’s on home turf. “It’s more London-y than Piccadilly Circus,” he continues. Piccadilly Circus, for Connor, doesn’t epitomise the British capital and his native city in the same way the mecca of cultural institutions stretched across the River Thames does. “You’ve literally got The British Film Institute and The National Theatre right next to each other,” he beams. “There’s something just magical about that.”

The weather when we meet in the riverside district, on a July mid-morning, enchants less. The robust vintage Carhartt biker jacket he dons is emblematic of the lacklustre outcome of summer’s promise. “You get really excited for a warm summer…” he says, as we bemoan the past few wet weeks. However, the universal magnetism of our meeting point, Shakespeare’s Globe – a replica of Elizabethan playhouse The Globe Theatre, famed as the space for which William Shakespeare would pen his plays – isn’t weather contingent. A school trip convenes to marvel at it in the minutes prior to Connor’s arrival. Still technically a teen- ager himself, it’s only some years ago that one of Connor’s classes did the same. “I went there on a school trip, not even to see [a show],” he tells me. “It was just to go on a little tour of the grounds or something.”

His own intrigue in the venue appears almost innate, pre-dating and enduring beyond said educational excursion. He pinpoints his first interaction with it as being “frankly in my dreams.” Such an answer typifies his approach to many of my questions – responses are imbued with school-boy-esque fascination, but considered and diligently matching the reverence he feels for the craft with a degree of poeticism. “I think I’ve always been fascinated by The Globe, its history in theatre, the characters and the people who have tread the boards there.” Following the school trip, he did actually see one of Shakespeare’s classics there: “It wasn’t actually my favourite performance of Macbeth I’ve seen,” he says in an uncharacteristic lean into the controversial. “But there’s just some- thing really magical about being in the building. It’s such a historical part of London that I love and having grown up in London, [coming to this spot] feels like home.”

He visits The Southbank “extremely often” from his home borough of Croydon where he still resides with his parents, if not for long. “I’m in the process of moving out at the moment,” he tells me. Otherwise, life is quieter at the moment than previously expected due to the SAG-AFTRA strike cancelling all work commitments. It also means he can’t take me on a typical A-Z of his career and projects, so we’ve asked him to guide us through his favourite London neighbourhood instead. The Southbank naturally came out on top and The Globe serves as the first stop in his whistle-stop jaunt through this esteemed cultural quarter. “‘This is my favourite route in London”, he reassures me when I tell him the infancy of my own period as a resident of the capital might make me dependent on him for navigation. “I’ve got the route down!”

The pinnacle for sunset vistas, Camden’s Primrose Hill, forms a solid second place in his regular London itinerary. However, The Southbank trumps it as “even though it’s a really busy, lively, touristy place, I still just find being by the river and so much cultural richness really peaceful.”

It’s an optimal environment to encounter the star in. Social anxiety means “I can never sit down and talk for a long period,” he says. However, “I’ve always found myself one who can walk and talk.” The briskness of our expedition attests to this and might signal a slight disparity in our lung capacity, although it would appear endless walks during the COVID lockdown have given Connor a stamina advantage. “As soon as we were allowed to, I would just walk for hours and hours and hours,” he tells me. “Walking was what the gym is to me now. It just maintains my mental health at a certain level.”

By the time we’ve passed our next destination, the leading national contemporary art collection TATE Modern, we’re still discussing The Globe. As we catch up, he directs me to a nearby Gail’s. He goes for an Americano and cold-press, me an iced latte, and he gets his card out. “I’ll get this,” I insist. “Oh, only if you can definitely get it back [in expenses]?,” he asks concernedly. Before returning onto the subject of the TATE, we dive into his Wonderland shoot a few weeks prior. “It was a lot of fun,” he tells me. “We were in this very funky house and it was kind of chaotic and crazy in a really good way and we were just having fun,” he says. Also, “They made a newspaper with my name on it! I took a picture of that and sent it to my parents which they loved.”

And speaking of parents, it was his dad who made him such a regular young frequenter of the TATE. “He was really interested in art in all different medias and formats,” he says, “and so I’ve just been there a lot through- out my life.” He describes the process of accumulating an appreciation for art himself as a “slow” one that sprawled across his childhood. “I think the first time I went to the TATE Modern I was like, ‘What the hell is this?,’ he smiles, but definitely in recent years, I’ve found you can just sit in there for hours and take it all in.”

His perception of art of the visual kind intertwines with that of his vocation, acting. “I consider all [mediums] to be art in different ways and that’s kind of what I love above all. Whether it be literature, music, film or anything, I think it’s all encompassing under the concept of just art – as wanky as that might sound,” he adds in a self-deprecating manner. Perhaps unsurprisingly, film caught his attention first. “It’s so universally digestible,” he explains. “There’s a film for everyone. Everyone’s got a favourite film and everyone is able to go ‘Okay, it makes me feel a certain type of way.’”

With film as his in, “I then kind of scattered my interest and explored the rest,” he says. Most recently, the world of fashion has captured his attention. It’s an industry he’s become immersed in following the ballooning of his profile last year. Front-row spots at Loewe and Kenzo presentations in recent months, plus a burgeoning rapport with the former’s Creative Director Jonathan Anderson, have given him the perfect vantage point from which to take it in. “I wouldn’t call myself a fashion girlie or anything,” he laughs, “But I’m able to come in every so often and dip my toes into [the industry]. Again, I’m just a big admirer of art and I see it as art on the human body.” It makes for a high-wattage introduction to the sphere, however, and while “it’s a massive, massive privilege and honour that anyone would view me as a valuable person to have in their front row, some of the theatrics of fashion week can be a little bit stressful and scary,” he admits. “I think honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that I have a love of fashion and I genuinely just enjoy the shows, I might’ve stopped going by now, but it’s about the collection and that shared experience of art.”

Nevertheless, someone like Anderson sounds like a good ally to have as he attempts to stay clear of the industry’s pitfalls. “I think one of the things that I really love about Jonathan especially is the fact that it’s not about how many Instagram followers you have, it’s not about the superficial stuff. It’s ‘does he like what I seem to be as a person?’ And then when he gets to know me, ‘does he still like me and want to invite me back?’”

Coffees consumed, we proceed, and before we know it, “Here we have The National Theatre…” he tells me. “It’s a really interesting-looking building, isn’t it? There’s something almost kind of ironic about it because it’s so grey and it looks like a prison in some sort of strange, sci-fi film, but it’s also just the home of magic.” The sometimes divisive Brutalist construction is looked upon by a bronze statue of the theatre’s founder, doyen of the craft Laurence Olivier. “I’ve always thought that it was so poetic having that statue just outside,” Connor enthuses.

The venue has become a touch point for Connor to encounter the greatness that precedes him in his profession. “The National Theatre is one of my favourite places to chill,” he says. “I met up with an actor who I really, really respected and loved. We had coffee there and I think ever since that experience, I was like, ‘Wow, it’s a really great place to go and there’s something really inspiring about it.’”

However, now a recognisable face himself for fellow acting enthusiasts, his presence in our hour-long stroll on the Southbank doesn’t go unnoticed by passersby, despite a seemingly-intentional nondescript ensemble and cap obscuring much of his face. One approaches, declaring to Connor his excitement for the release of an upcoming project. Connor’s gracious and before I blink has slotted efficiently into position for a selfie, shaking off my offer to take a photo for them. Later, I’m curious if the prospect of such regular attention would ever dissuade him from spending time in venues like The National Theatre which inevitably attract crowds more likely to boast the cultural awareness to click on to his presence? “There was a point where I asked myself [a similar] question,” he tells me. “Like, ‘Does that mean I have to stop going to certain places where I’m more likely to be recognised?’ But I just kind of thought, there might be a time where I’m like, ‘I’m really going through something right now’ and then there are still places I can go that are really quiet. But I also don’t want to let anything stop me from living my life in the most normal way.”

For example, “I know some people who neglect to take the train or don’t get the bus,” he says. However, “I live in London and it’s the only way to get around. I’m not going to drive from my house to here.” Time in transit aside, the remedial effects for him of time spent in the spaces he loves so much are understandably not worth foregoing. “There’s something really inspiring about the theatre,” he says, “in that it turns you into a child again, more than anything else. Theatre is one of the best things about London.”

“I think London’s got some of the best theatres in the world.” He can compare its standing in an international context with some authority, in particular following a recent trip to the industry’s American capital, Broadway. One marked difference he encountered across the pond was the tone of audience interaction. “The actor walks on-stage and they get an applause” he says, still bewildered. “It’s not something I can really understand to be honest because I’ve grown up in London and with West End culture.”

“The person hasn’t done anything yet but they’re being applauded for being who they are. I think you watch certain actors on stage in New York and you’re like, ‘I feel like this has pissed you right off, be- cause you want to get into the show,’ and it’s one way to break the fourth wall immediately by just being like ‘Oh yeah, let’s applaud and remind everyone that we’re in the theatre.’ But I think it’s just different, that’s the thing. Britain has this almost comic politeness at times and people can be really ruthless. You’ll see certain shows and be in the audience and the applause feels pitiful. It feels like people are applauding because it’s polite, but we’re not going to give the satisfaction of saying, ‘This is good.’”

Stateside especially, he highlights, the spectacle of theatre isn’t just confined to glitzy venues, rather, he sees The Big Apple’s streets as the pre-eminent spot in the world for people watching. “It’s like London but the characters that you find there or everyone walking around is just so cool. Everyone’s wearing cool clothes or having cool conversations. There’s something really beautiful about people and just watching them exist and be who they are. You can have one couple falling in love and one person who has just had his heart broken. I think that’s why it’s one of my favourite things to do and that’s why New York is one of my favourite places. And as an actor I think it’s really helpful, you can just learn a lot from people.”

More traditionally, recently he’s been schooling himself on the work of film stars gone by, most notably that of mid-century screen icons Marlon Brando, James Dean et al. The archive of our next stop, The British Film Institute, lends itself to such study. “You can just sit and watch old films here,” he says. “And there’s just a really great culture of appreciating the past and works of the past and again, if you go and sit in the cafe in The BFI, you’re just surrounded by other people who love films – young filmmakers, aspiring filmmakers, older filmmakers.”

I imagine him passing hours in there, striking up conversations with fellow erudite lovers of the medium and geeking-out over an Americano or two. “I think I’m far too socially anxious to do that, far too socially inept,” he laughs. “I feel like you could, but I don’t think I could because I would just get too nervous.” I find that hard to imagine, I tell him – as a tour guide, his articulations are fluent, expanded upon and unwinded with leisure, if sometimes simultaneously self-edited – but largely, interrupting him in flow feels redundant. “I’m often confused for being quite confident and quite extroverted,” he explains. “One on one, I’m a bit better, but especially if I have no idea who you are then there’s no chance I’m going up to you.”

It’s perhaps why time spent “being normal and at home, existing,” is so prized for him. “I think it reminds you how unreal everything else is. I really like having home being somewhere that’s really normal.” Now, as he prepares to fly the nest comes the opportunity to cultivate such a space for himself – “I’m feeling unbelievably excited about it,” he says. “I didn’t go to uni and I’m not planning on going to uni, but I’ve always had this thing where the only thing about that that ever appealed to me was the idea of moving away and living life. So yeah, I’m definitely craving my own place and independence.”

“I think I’ve always felt like a bit of an adult,” he tells me. “I mean every kid wants to be one,” but childhood acting projects spent primarily around grownups compounded this for a younger Connor. With that came frustration, at times. He recounts sharing a role at our final stop, The Old Vic, while in Year 9, with other kids due to child labour laws. “That was hard for me. I felt like I wasn’t really able to commit to the role as much as I would’ve liked.” However, working daily in the grade II-listed, 1000-capacity venue with in excess of 200 years of history was “magical. It’s such a magical place to go to work everyday,” he smiles. “Getting to step on that historical stage or sit in your dress- ing room [bearing in mind] the people who have also sat in that dressing room,” dazzled him. As well as the more menial aspects of daily employment. “I would go to that Pret A Manger everyday,” he says, pointing out a branch of the sandwich chain across the road. “It also just felt like a job. I was living at home but I was leaving the house at the same time, getting on the same train, getting home at the same time, and there was something really great about that.”

The venue naturally gained an indelible position in Connor family folklore as a result. “We all love this theatre,” he says. “I mean my parents brought all of their family, their friends and everyone to see me. It was very embarrassing.” And for Connor, it remains one of his favourite theatres in the world. It’s an accolade achieved with stiff competition, even if just from its competitors on our morning Southbank stroll.

As our tour reaches its culmination, he’s inspired me to drink in the capital’s theatre culture more earnestly, I tell him, as it’s an aspect of life in the city I can be prone to neglecting. “You have to,” he says emphatically. And with his authority I feel duty-bound.

He’s off to lunch in Soho now, so he walks me to Waterloo station, pointing out the indoor Underground entrance. My navigational weaknesses must have emanated even more than I thought, or maybe he’s just helplessly good-willed. The latter rings true, and as we walk to the station, he turns the tables, quizzing me on my own experiences of the capital. It’s Glasgow I moved from, I tell him, somewhere he lived and worked temporarily, and before I know it, we’ve continued our earlier people-watching chat and are taking an anthropological look at the customs of Scotland’s largest city. He says he liked that people are generally friendlier up there, and I imagine he’d have fitted in well.

At this point, the tour guide might offer the floor for questions, but Connor’s dense array of insights in our compact outing leave me lost for any. Aside from one – “What was that daily Pret order comprised of?” I ask him. “I’m a big Mac & Cheese with prosciutto fan,” he clears up. “That’s been my go-to for years now.” Im- peccable taste truly can’t be learned.