In a world where Hollywood legends often guard their hearts as fiercely as their scripts, Robert Redford has always been the exception – the stoic cowboy with a poet’s soul, the silver-screen icon whose piercing blue eyes seemed to hold secrets deeper than the Grand Canyon. At 88 years old, the man who captivated generations with roles in classics like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and The Sting has finally let slip a confession that feels like the closing scene of one of his own films: his first wife, Lola Van Wagenen, was the love of his life. Despite a career spanning over six decades, immense wealth estimated at over $200 million, and a life filled with high-stakes adventures from mountain climbing to environmental crusades, Redford admits he never truly moved on from the woman who captured his heart when they were both barely out of their teens.

The revelation came during a rare, intimate interview with Vanity Fair earlier this month, conducted at his sprawling Sundance ranch in the Utah mountains – a place that’s as much a character in Redford’s story as any co-star. Seated by a crackling fireplace, with the autumn leaves turning gold outside the window, Redford’s voice, still resonant with that signature gravelly timbre, cracked just a fraction as he spoke. “Lola was the one,” he said, his gaze drifting to a faded photograph on the mantel of the two of them in their early 20s, laughing on a California beach. “She was my anchor in a sea of chaos. Fame came knocking, but she was the door I walked through first. I regret not saying it louder, sooner. At my age, what’s left to hide?”

For fans who have long idolized Redford’s on-screen romances – from the fiery passion with Barbra Streisand in The Way We Were to the tender camaraderie with Paul Newman – this confession peels back the layers of the man behind the myth. Who is this enigmatic Lola Van Wagenen, the college student and budding activist who stole the heart of a struggling artist-turned-actor? And why, after nearly 40 years since their divorce, does Redford feel compelled to lay his cards on the table now? As the world grapples with the twilight of Redford’s illustrious career – he announced his acting retirement in 2018 but continues directing and advocating – this personal disclosure offers a poignant reminder that even icons are human, their greatest stories often unfolding off-camera.

To understand the depth of Redford’s enduring affection, one must rewind to the sun-drenched streets of 1950s California, where a young Robert Redford was far from the polished heartthrob America would come to know. Born Charles Robert Redford Jr. on August 18, 1936, in Santa Monica, Redford grew up in a modest working-class family. His father, Charles Sr., was a milkman who later became an accountant for Standard Oil, instilling in his son a blue-collar work ethic. Young Robert was athletic and artistic, excelling in baseball at Van Nuys High School while sketching and dreaming of a life beyond the suburbs. But tragedy struck early: at 18, his mother, Martha, died of a rare blood disease, leaving him adrift in grief.

It was during this turbulent period, while attending the University of Colorado on a baseball scholarship, that Redford’s path took a detour. Suspended for excessive partying, he dropped out and fled to Europe, where he immersed himself in art and architecture studies in Paris and Florence. Returning to the U.S. in 1957 with a newfound passion for painting, Redford enrolled at the Pratt Institute in New York. But fate, as it often does in Hollywood tales, had other plans. While sketching in a Greenwich Village café, he caught the eye of a young woman named Lola Van Wagenen, a 17-year-old high school senior from Provo, Utah, visiting relatives in the city.

Lola, born in 1940, was no ordinary teenager. Raised in a devout Mormon family, she was intelligent, independent, and already showing signs of the activist spirit that would define her later life. She was studying history and sociology, with dreams of making a difference in social justice. Their meeting was serendipitous: Lola, out with friends, noticed Redford’s intense focus on his sketchpad and struck up a conversation about European art. “He had this quiet fire,” Lola later recalled in a rare 2010 interview with The Salt Lake Tribune. “Like he was carrying the weight of the world but wouldn’t let it show.” What began as a casual exchange blossomed into a whirlwind romance. Redford, 21 and restless, found in Lola a grounding force – someone who saw the artist in him before the actor.

They married just a year later, on September 9, 1958, in a simple ceremony at the Little Brown Church in Las Vegas. Lola was 18; Robert, 22. It was an impulsive decision, fueled by young love and a desire to build a life amid uncertainty. “We were kids playing house,” Redford reflected in the Vanity Fair piece. “But it felt right. She made me believe in forever.” The couple honeymooned briefly in Utah, where Lola introduced Redford to the majestic landscapes that would later inspire his environmental passion. They settled in New York, where Redford pursued acting, debuting on Broadway in Tall Story in 1960. Lola, ever supportive, worked as a secretary while enrolling at New York University, balancing studies with the demands of impending motherhood.

Their first child, Scott Anthony Redford, arrived in September 1959 – a bundle of joy that solidified their bond. But joy turned to heartbreak just five months later when Scott succumbed to sudden infant death syndrome (SIDS) in 1960. The loss shattered the young family. Redford, who had been away filming his first small role, returned to find Lola in inconsolable grief. “It broke us both,” he said. “Lola held me together when I couldn’t. She was the love that endured the unimaginable.” The tragedy deepened their connection, turning their marriage into a fortress against the world. They welcomed daughter Shauna in 1960, followed by son David James (known as Jamie) in 1962, and youngest daughter Amy in 1970. Family became their North Star as Redford’s career ignited.

The 1960s were a meteoric rise for Redford, but one laced with the tensions of stardom. His breakout in Barefoot in the Park (1967) opposite Jane Fonda thrust him into the spotlight as Hollywood’s golden boy. Offers poured in: Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969) made him a superstar, earning over $100 million at the box office. Yet, behind the glamour, life at home was a delicate balance. Lola, now a full-time mother and activist, stayed out of the limelight, raising their children in a Provo home while Redford traveled for shoots. She founded the Art and Activism program at the University of Utah, channeling her energies into Native American rights and women’s issues – causes that aligned with Redford’s growing political awareness.

But fame’s shadow loomed large. Redford’s good looks and charm led to tabloid speculation about affairs, though he vehemently denied them. “Lola was my reality check,” he confessed recently. “The women on screen were illusions; she was the truth.” Still, the long separations strained their marriage. Redford’s immersion in roles like the idealistic journalist in All the President’s Men (1976) mirrored his own frustrations with Hollywood’s superficiality. Lola, meanwhile, grappled with the isolation of being married to a celebrity. “We loved deeply, but life pulled us in different directions,” she said in a 1990s profile. Their home life was idyllic in snapshots – family ski trips to Sundance, which Redford purchased in 1969 as a retreat – but cracks formed.

The 1970s brought more professional triumphs and personal trials. Redford directed his first film, Ordinary People (1980), drawing from the grief of losing Scott and his mother’s death. The Oscar-winning drama about a family’s unraveling after tragedy was cathartic, but it highlighted the unspoken pains in his own marriage. By then, Redford and Lola had quietly separated in the early 1980s, though they maintained a united front for the children. The divorce was finalized in 1985 after 27 years, remarkably amicable and private. No messy headlines, no custody battles – just a mutual acknowledgment that their paths had diverged. Lola moved to Utah, focusing on her career as a historian and producer, even co-founding the Redford Center for environmental causes with Redford post-divorce. “We parted as friends, with love intact,” Redford said at the time to a close associate.

The split didn’t end their connection. They co-parented effectively, with Redford remaining involved in their children’s lives. Shauna became an artist and family therapist; Jamie, a musician and activist who tragically passed away in 2020 from bile duct cancer at 58; Amy, a painter living quietly in Colorado. David (Jamie) and Redford shared a particularly close bond, collaborating on eco-projects until his death. Lola, now 85, has largely stayed out of the public eye, remarrying briefly in the 1990s before focusing on philanthropy. Yet, whispers from mutual friends suggested Redford never fully let go. “He’d mention her in quiet moments,” one Sundance insider told People magazine last week. “She was the one who got away – or rather, the one he let slip.”

Post-divorce, Redford’s romantic life took new turns, but none eclipsed Lola’s shadow. He dated sporadically in the 1980s and ’90s, including a high-profile relationship with actress Sydney Pollack’s daughter. In 1996, at his Sundance resort, he met Sibylle Szaggars, a German painter 20 years his junior. Their connection was artistic and activist-driven; they bonded over environmentalism and shared a love for nature. They married in 2009 in a private ceremony at Sundance, and Sibylle became his steadfast partner, collaborating on the Redford Center’s initiatives to restore wetlands and combat climate change. At 88, Redford speaks fondly of her: “Sibylle is my companion in this chapter – a true partner.” Yet, even in praising his second wife, he circles back to Lola as the foundational love.

So, why confess now, at 88, when most men his age are content with reflections in private? Redford attributes it to a confluence of milestones. This year marks the 65th anniversary of their marriage – a poignant symmetry amid his own mortality. He’s been reflecting on legacy, penning a memoir tentatively titled The Unscripted Life, set for release next year. The book delves into his personal vulnerabilities, including the regrets of fame’s toll on family. “Time is the great editor,” he told Vanity Fair. “I’ve spent decades building Sundance to nurture stories untold. Now, it’s time to tell my own – the one about the girl who made me believe in love before the cameras rolled.”

The interview, excerpted in the magazine’s November issue, has ignited a firestorm of media coverage and fan adoration. Social media buzzed with #RedfordConfession, amassing millions of views. Jane Fonda, his Barefoot in the Park co-star and lifelong friend, tweeted: “Bob’s heart was always bigger than his fame. Lola was lucky – and so were we.” Meryl Streep, who shared epic romance with him in Out of Africa (1985), called it “a beautiful truth from a man who’s lived authentically.” Even Lola broke her silence with a brief statement through a family representative: “Robert and I shared a profound love. His words honor that chapter. I’m grateful.”

Critics and biographers see deeper layers. Redford’s confession aligns with his lifelong theme of authenticity – from championing indie films at Sundance (founded 1981) to his environmental battles, like halting a Utah power plant in the 1970s. “He’s always been about the real over the reel,” says film historian Mark Harris. “This is Redford unfiltered: a man reconciling his public persona with private pain.” Psychologists note that such late-life disclosures are common among high-achievers, a way to heal old wounds as the end nears. Redford, ever the adventurer, recently summited a Utah peak at 88, but he admits the real climb is emotional.

Reflecting on their early days, Redford recounted vivid memories in the interview. “We’d drive cross-country in a beat-up Chevy, Lola navigating with maps and dreams. She taught me resilience – after Scott, after my mom’s passing. Hollywood tried to change me, but she reminded me who I was.” Their shared Mormon roots (though Redford later distanced himself) added spiritual depth; Lola’s faith grounded their vows. Even after divorce, they collaborated: Lola produced documentaries on Native rights that screened at Sundance, and Redford credited her influence in his 2016 Presidential Medal of Freedom speech.

The confession also sheds light on Redford’s guarded persona. Known for avoiding the Hollywood party circuit, he protected his family fiercely. “Fame was a thief,” he said. “It stole time from us.” The 1980s, post-divorce, saw him direct hits like A River Runs Through It (1992), infusing themes of family loss drawn from his life. His role in The Natural (1984) as a mythic baseball player echoed his own youthful dreams derailed by love and loss. Later, in All Is Lost (2013), his solitary sailor battling the sea symbolized the isolation he felt after Lola.

Today, at Sundance, Redford divides time between Sibylle and visits from his daughters and grandchildren. The ranch, a 5,000-acre preserve, symbolizes his commitment to legacy – much like his love for Lola. “She was the spark,” he mused. “Without her, no Sundance, no activism. Just a kid with a sketchpad.”

As Redford enters his 89th year, this confession feels like a full-circle moment. Hollywood’s eternal boy has grown into its wise elder, proving that true love isn’t scripted – it’s confessed, decades later, with the quiet power of a sunset over the mountains. In a life of blockbusters and causes, Lola Van Wagenen remains his greatest role: the love that time couldn’t fade.