The Joy of Ex: Breaking up in Hong Kong

Relationships are a minefield that can blow up for seemingly trivial reason. P.Ramakrishnan finds out why.

Illustration by Harry Harrison.


Statistically, nearly half of all marriages end in divorce, so you can imagine that in the preceding dating game, those figures are stratospherically higher. Some of the reasons why people get dumped, binned and thrown out at the curb are less obvious than norm; he cheats, she spends too much, he talks to his dead mother’s ashes in an Egyptian urn…

Shopping at grEAT at the basement of Pacific Place, Regina*, 32, socialite, throws into a cart a can of Beluga and flicks back her coiffed curls to shoot out, “The way he danced. Main reason for dumping the one before last. Such a pity and I pursued him for ages. Used to turn up at events knowing he was there with perfumed cleavage.”

Perfumed cleavage?

“Yep. Mixed Asian origin like me, great skin, was a runner so no Buddha-belly, an advertising exec who dressed sharp and had a law degree or something and he was a great speaker. We were at a friend’s reception, wedding thing and I saw him on the floor,” she sighs. “Electrocuted spasms. Shocking. Had to be let go.”

That seems rather superficial doesn’t it? Just because he wasn’t Travolta to music. “How a man moves to music is indicative of a lot more, believe you me!” Point well scribbled in a writing pad.

And the last one left at the falter?

“Well, he was great. But... he was an aerobics instructor at **** gym. Clearly not the marrying kind. But on the yoga mat, he could…”

Too much information.

Why Angie* left her last near-fiancée seems even more spurious. “He wanted to move to the States. I didn’t. Living in middle-America is just not an option.”

As centipede-al queues spring out of the American consulate, it’s peculiar to find someone willing to give up a gilt-edged green-card and boyfriend. “No maid. No social life. Driving for hours every day to reach a mall that doesn’t have half the brands you get in Hong Kong. My family. My life-long friends and give it all up to become a nobody in the middle of nowhere?” she rolls her eyes and scoffs. “No thank you!”

At 28, there is familial pressure to get hitched but the bone-thin marketing manager for one of the biggest brands in Asia, Angie's got prospects dotted around Hong Kong. She has options she says and she’s well aware of it. “Maybe pre-97 I would have jumped at the offer to move to the US but, I was 19 then and would have moved just to be near the cast of 90210… but not for a guy!”

Psychologist and hypnotherapist Melanie Bryan, says that rejecting relationships for seemingly shallow reasons isn’t uncommon among young singles, who tend to be less forgiving.

“Younger women are looking for romantic love, defining love in a very romantic notion, and defining love in very romantic terms,” she says. "Without much experience, they may be more inclined to end a relationship when the demands are too much or if their expectations aren’t met.”

But this may change once they’ve had painful break-ups and their hopes and expectations have been tempered by life experience, after which they have a tendency to evaluate potential partners quite differently.

“They make some effort to try and change, or work with, or work around, what they define as unsatisfactory behaviour,” Byan says. “If that behaviour continues - if its flirtation, for example, an infidelity issue, or excessive drinking or drug addiction, at different stages, you are inclined to stay longer, if children are involved, you might stay for financial reasons and so on.

“But when you’re not as evolved emotionally, then you’d rather opt out. The more mature you are, the reasons for leaving a person become more grave, it is not an instant decision correlating with instant dissatisfaction.”

Michelle, 40, a hotel fine-arts consultant, says she and her boyfriend seemed to have a lot in common. “We talked and talked for hours about art, books, everything. When we talked, it was like an instant coffee mix. We melted into one.

“He was a good person, well balanced, smart, sexy, and no bad habits. I thought - this is someone I’d really like to be with. After a few months of dating, I started to feel like I was handicapped.

“He was overly concerned for me and it really started to get under my skin. Like, when I was crossing the street, I had to be held so I won’t run off like a child, and when eating, his chopsticks were constantly in my bowl. He would call about 10 times a day to see if I’m OK and if I needed anything.

“He’d buy me gifts on a no-reason occasion and I was expected to understand the thought beneath the surface of the gift. It was tiresome.”

Bryan says Michelle’s experience is a text-book case of over-indulgence. “This is a classic example of someone confusing possessiveness with security – not realising they can’t possess someone in order to feel secure. Some people like a lot of breathing room. Times have changed as women are no longer economically dependent on men.

“Funnily enough, there are many women who would love to exchange their partner with this one. They want the attention, the long stemmed roses and the calls.”

Michelle agrees - in principal. “Most women might think I’m mad to give up such gem of a man, but he drove me away with too much attention. I like my space; I am able to pick up food from the dish in front of me. If I can travel across the world, I surely can cross the street without any assistance from my boyfriend.”

Bryan says many people split up because they hold that early romantic love stage as the criteria. “In romantic love, in the throws of intensive hormonal changes, the person they become involved with becomes perfection. They can hardly live without them, they can’t think about anything else. And when this tapers off – and it will, when you’re over-estimated the qualities of the person, and when reality comes in through the door – the person seems like a different person.

“At a later stage, there’s a difference between romantic love and deep attachment. Women feel more independent. They’re not willing to put up with nonsense.”

The break-up of Bonnie* and her Porsche-driving first husband made many a tabloid headline in the 1990s. Over lunch at Ye Shanghai, while sipping jasmine tea, she recollects, “I knew the instant that it wasn’t working out,” she says now, nearly a decade later. “We drove to Repulse Bay beach and he parked his car, got out and was twirling his keys as he went off - leaving me in the car. He hadn’t opened the door for me, which was fine, but he didn’t turn around once to notice if I was beside him, behind him or anything.”

“They say playing with keys is a bad omen and I just knew as I saw him walk off that I would be the one walking out of this marriage.”

Taking a pause to digest this last anecdote, Bryan says Bonnie’s feelings were insightful. “The romantic stage was over. She had been won. He was getting back to his usual way of operating. Men will go through a stage, it becomes the challenge. They put their work consideration aside to some extent. Women assume that it’ll always be that way. Once the challenge is won of course they’ll go back to the prime interest of their life. Which is work… or other women.

“He saw her as someone who doesn’t require attention any more. Or it could be that she needed a lot of attention.

“People have to work at relationship. Most haven’t graduated emotional college – and it’s a tough course.”

* Pseudonyms to protect the guilty!

My notes:

Had so much fun writing this back in the day for SCMP, as I got to discreetly spill the beans on famous Hong Kong splits... er, without getting in trouble. Thank God most of Hong Kong society doesn't read.

Brand it like Mumbai: Luxury in India, designer brands, Bollywood and High Society: Its a return to home base for Rama as he goes back to Incredible India

Indubitably, China is regarded as one of the world’s biggest potential markets for major luxury brands. On his first visit to Mumbai, P.Ramakrishnan discovers the subcontinent’s discerning shoppers who are poised to take up the No: 1 market slot in Asia with sari-clad ease. 

All images by Ayesha Broacha. 

A perfectly pedicured foot alights a black Mercedes, following the soft tinkle of silver anklets. A white, French chiffon and lace sari, embroidered with exquisite red zari and zardosi work, streams out of the car, revealing erstwhile Bollywood superstar Sridevi Kapoor, as she steps out to a shower of paparazzi flashes. On one arm she carries her daughter and on the other a ruby red Rs 41,400 Christian Dior leather satchel, that perfectly compliments her exotic regalia. The following day the leading society columns have splashed photos of the media-shy star for the teeming masses but the real question that burns in the social harem of Mumbai’s crème de la crème is; where did she get that bag? 

Though still under the radar, unlike China or Japan, the luxury brand empires of the world are poised to hit India hard over the next year. The affluent middle class is said to number 60 million in India, while 364, 000 high-end tourists and visitors got off the jets, according to Abacus International. Status symbols such as Burberry's, Cartier, Daks Simpson, Louis Vuitton, Mont Blanc, Nina Ricci, Piaget, Tiara, Tiffany's and Versace have already left their emblematic marks on the market. Rumours of Dior’s entry are in the air while brand [Richard] Branson is up to its usual theatrics as it harpoons through the region this year. 

For the record, Kapoor got her Dior bag in New York, where she holidayed because Dior isn’t open in India. Not yet. Her movie producer husband, who is famous for collecting Gucci shoes as he is for his mammoth film productions, relishes in his foot fetish in Hong Kong and the US. 

Gucci is not in India either. Not yet. 

The world’s largest democracy should be an apt demographic target for every designer label; a nation that’s still littered with royalty (who’ve turned their palaces to chic money churning nostalgic hotels), a celebrity-fueled film industry (the largest in the world no less), swing a Fendi bag anywhere in Mumbai and you’re bound to hit an ex-Miss India, World or Universe who then go on to hit Bollywood to keep their fame alight. With modelling endorsements, they have a none-too shabby disposable income too! A leaping industrial pool (burgeoning bourgeois that’s morphing into the nouveau riche), the feudal lords (remnants from pre-colonial India who own large swathes of property) and the undisputable dollar and pound powered NRI (Non-Resident Indian) nexus that returns home or invests in his/her motherland. 

Break it all down to three simple categories: old money, with preference to classic brands, the corporate tier, with their proclivity to what’s “in” in New York, Paris and Milan and finally the nouveau riche, who know nothing of fashion but can see price tags loud and clear. It’s all about showmanship for them. For that last lot, a muted classic like Zegna would be thumbed down for a flashy, silky, multi-hued Versace, that just might glow in the dark. It signals look at me, I got the money! 

Haseena Jethmalani, a fashion savvy socialite in Mumbai, says, “The strangest conversation I had recently was a lady at a party who had flown down from Delhi and she was showing me her diamond ear-rings. She didn’t discuss carats or design but said it cost her Rs 25 lakh. Not labels or cut but cost was advertised which I found rather funny.”

Educated in London, Jethmalani has been aware of luxury brands years before they cropped up in India over the last five years. She has her own shop (closed the day of our shoot as the vendors are on strike, protesting the news that VAT might be introduced in India!) and heads the best dressed list in the city replete with the trendy and the hip. 

Heading down to Chor Bazaar, which translates to “The Thief Market”, a sobriquet that stuck the strips of shops where pre-1947, objects that “fell off a truck” from the affluent, ended up on sale in the market days later!) to pick up an antique fan. 

She says, “More and more people are holidaying abroad, they know the brands, because of the proliferation of the media, through television, through channels like fTV and the vast collection of international magazines, know what they want, know what’s in. So trying to hoodwink someone who’s even slightly aware of what’s hot in the retail industry is just not going to work. Even the fake market is tiny compared to say, places like China. You might see it on say a college girl who’s walking around with an LV fake. But she knows and everyone else knows a 23-year-old kid who goes to a local school can’t afford the thousands of rupees it costs for the original. They’re doing it for fun. Fake fun.” 

Noting where the well heeled, bellied bankers and businessmen were buying shirts, ties and suits in bulk, Donatella Versace saw that her goods were Eastward bound. She took her first trip to India in March this year. Not only promising to open up flagship stores but investing in India. She even participated in a fashion hunt program (think of it as an Indian-ised American Idol show but in search of the next top designer, not singer). At a press conference she said in her clipped English, “I love India. Indian women are chic and fashionable and elegant. Of course Versace will be in India.”  

The love for India is a phrase that cropped up when Yves Carcelle, CEO of Louis Vuitton, opened up flagship stores in India; one in Delhi which does phenomenal business and another in the hopelessly elegant Taj hotel in Mumbai. LV is categorically the first to dip its feet into the unknown waters, only to find itself swimming along “fabulously”. Says retail manager of Louis Vuitton India, Prasanna Bhaskar, “A major luxury brand jeweller from Europe opened a few years ago in Delhi and Mumbai and took it for granted that the market would just lap up the unsold, the rejected goods of Europe and Dubai and that it would sell in India. The Indian market is extremely savvy, very fashion conscious and brand aware. It’s not like the new mints of say a Russia or a China where any brand could be lapped up, real or fake.” 

With no air-kissed invitation to the celebrity circuit, Indian actors are repeatedly seen in magazines, clutching their LVs without any direct incentive given to them by the company itself. This year alone, photo-shoots with starlets Amisha Patel and former Miss India Celina Jaitley appeared with LV embossed bags in multiple magazines. It’s easy to assume someone from the brand and orchestrated the shoot. But no. 

Says Bhaskar, “When LV launched in India, we did nominal advertising. We’ve never done shows in India, no aggressive publicity campaigns and yet the goods were selling extremely well. This is a market already cognoscente of what the brand is. There was no need to educate the market. We never approached any of the stars in India nor have we worked with film magazines to use products for their shoots. When Filmfare came out with the ladies clutching their bags, which happened to be LV, that was a pleasant surprise to us.” 

Sipping coffee inches away from the Mumbai flagship store, at the Taj coffee shop, she brews on how the sales have been over the last year. “Delhi sees the best sales in all of India, in fact, all of Asia at the moment. We’re seeing sales that don’t happen in the Japanese market!”

Which is surprising indeed as Bollywood is based in Mumbai, the celebrity driven city would seem like the “it” centre for retail goods but that’s not the case. The arteries around the capital are rich in large, old moneyed families that made their millions through natural resource sales (farming, cotton, linen, cloth, steel, natural gas). 

“For example a lady will come into the shop, like something and then she’ll come back with her mother-in-law, sister-in-law, a cousin… it becomes like a family affair. In that cluster another lady will see something else and pick that up later. Women make sound sartorial, fashionable business decisions and it’s never an off the cuff sale. And we didn’t get whoever’s hot in Bollywood to sway any of them!” 

Each and every Indian actor endorses, in most cases, multiple products. There’s an appeal to the youngish crowd that will gladly pick up a Pepsi because Shahrukh Khan, the King of Bollywood, is addicted to it but for the jet-setting, bi-annual holidays in Tuscany and Paris lot, the wrong screen idol pushing a product, it can only backfire. 

Says Shobhaa De, celebrity columnist and chat show host, “The new money lot blindly follows a certain section of the society because to compensate for their own lack of self-confidence. So and so was seen wearing such and such, I must get one. But there are a few of the top families in India and the matriarchs there that make their own fashionable statements. With purchasing power that comes from their innate fashion sense, not because some star splashed on the idiot-box says so. These are the people who have a lot of disposable income. Well, access to their husbands disposable income!”

Though she herself professes to endorse no brands, her four daughters, more than make up for it. “I only have originals and don’t carry fakes,” says Arundhati De, right before regaling on her mother’s antics. “At the opening of LV at the Taj, I went with Mum and I couldn’t believe it when she took her fake bag to the opening! It was the new duffel sports sack thing which they didn’t have in the store and everyone was asking for it – I mean the original!” 

De, as always, couldn’t help being cheeky by tagging along her fake HK bought sack. “Why do I need to endorse a brand? I am my own brand! It often doesn’t go with my outfit. I like the embroidered or cloth bags that would complement an Indian outfit. Just because a particular shade or style is in, if it doesn’t go with the outfit, why bother? And I know I’m not alone in this!” 

Narendra Kumar, Indian designer to the socialites and fashionistas in the capital, who has four stores around the country, nods his head to De’s words. “Say in places like Japan which has a very different fashion vibe, they might buy the new cherry LV because its hot, its new, its in. Here it might not work as well. If you’re wearing a gold embroidered sari or something multi-hued, if the bag clashes with the outfit, the ladies won’t carry it!” 

When international brands hit home, what should they be aware of? “Price point. Unlike a few years ago, the upper middle class and especially the upper crust, they fly out of India four or five times a year, either on business or on pleasure and they do shop! If they even remotely suspect there’s something fishy about what they’re paying for a watch say in the city versus what they would pay in, lets say Changi airport (Singapore’s airport/uber mall!), then they know it. Also, I must say, even people who buy something in India, might say that they got it in Dubai or Paris or London. There’s a certain romance to saying that they got it “abroad” than down main-street you know?” 

Oh and lets not forget the caste system and social hierarchy was coined in India long before the rest of the West thought the world was flat. Status and luxury, six papers have a society column and 12 magazines, with names like High Blitz and Verve, dedicated and primarily targeted at the prolific ‘haves’. And have they got it. 

Dressed in all her finery, when a local paper published a full-page picture of Jethmalani at an event, a ring on her left hand caught the eye of millions. Flooded with calls, the paper rang her up to ask, where she got a ring? 

“You know something, I had bought my kid a cereal box from London and there was this colourful ring that came free with it. It went with my outfit so I just wore it! It might have cost 9 pence! The paper couldn’t believe it! They refused to publish that story and said it was a luxury brand!” 

Whatever works.

The M Word: MadonnaL Notes on a sold out collaboration with H&M

She sings, she dances, she writes, she poses nude, she appears in (pretty awful) films, and yet she remains the most famous woman in the known universe. That’s Madonna. And now, god love her, she designs. ‘M by Madonna’ premiered in, of all places, the Central H&M store in Hong Kong. Did she really pick up a sketchpad and ink a collection of outfits? P.Ramakrishnan investigates.



For some inexpensive items to festoon the wardrobes of the most notable ladies in town, there is no logical explanation for the frenzy that followed the opening night of H&M in Central, Hong Kong on March 8th. Apparently, 1,000 invitations were sent out, but quadruple numbers turned up at the door. Security was kept on its toes all night, and the lines extended from the old Lane Crawford building to some nether regions of Sheung Wan. Invited guests, by hour number two, took bathroom breaks at the nearby McDonald's, and there were takeaway fish balls for those who needed sustenance as hour three crept up. All this fuss for HK$499 black ankle-length dresses and matching booties?

Oh, there’s the ‘M’ factor of course.

Just over a month ago, Madonna took over Central. A no man’s land bracketed by one portrait after another of the American Anglophile, pop icon, non-actress, African baby adopter, Kabbala espousing, henna-tattooed earth mother. The major MTR stations around town were plastered with her posters, the biggest billboards across Central had her honed glare staring out, the three storey LCD screen that illuminated the crossing on Queens Road ran her ads in perpetual loop and pictures filled up pages in every single daily paper around Hong Kong, all heralding the opening of Swedish giant H&M’s grand opening in Asia.

In her first stab at ‘designing’, the style icon’s clothes had not yet been seen by the West, and the world premier of her work was in Hong Kong, not in the UK, the US, or Japan (the music markets she’s dominated over the last two decades). The litmus test for her latest incarnation in China no less. So the breathless anticipation got the better of all concerned and a swarm descended on opening night – as they braved serpentine queues, tantrums and the glare of the paparazzi.

The ‘M’ collection is alarmingly wearer friendly. Cream trench coats, white sweaters with gold piping, monochrome A-line skirts, brown pencil pants. None of the theatrical creations that the mind conjures when one thinks of Madonna (lest we forget her conical bra infamy and other wardrobe malfunctions) which, according to Margareta van den Bosch, the principal designer for H&M, isn’t a surprise. “I think she has a very different style hen she is in the working scene, and when she’s in private., she’s different. She wants to have the glamourous look only when she’s working, she’s very normal at home.”

A seeming contradiction of terms, not many would buy the term ‘normal’ with the big M, but they did scoop up her silk dresses for under HK$900. Previously H&M worked with Karl Lagerfeld and Stella McCartney and other, you know, ‘real’ designers to create looks for them - so why hook up with the Material Girl? As she worked with the pop icon over the last year, the H&M rep reveals how the collection came about. “We had this idea, a new kind of collaboration with celebrities, and it was great that Madonna wanted to share her personal taste with the world,” says van den Bosch. “She likes classic clothes, and when she showed her personal wardrobe to us, it was very feminine and quiet classic in terms of style. She likes suits, trench coats, dresses and skirts. There’s the icon and then the person behind that icon.”

What was the real surprise in working with Madonna? “How involved she was,” says the collaborator without hesitation. “She was so engaged, she was really into it and liked what she was doing. And that was a little bit of a surprise as I first thought she would just say ‘yes, no, yes, no’ to what we presented but she was looking at the seams, the material, she even knew how something needed to be changed. And of course she was firm in telling us what she didn’t like.”

But of course.

“She did say I’m not a denim girl, I don’t like it that much. So we put very slim, very basic denim in the collection,” says van den Roshch. “She also didn’t want puffy things because of the volume – and that was a no from the beginning. She always has very high heels so there are only high-heeled shoes in the collection. She said she would like to wear very short skirts but she’s tiny so she doesn’t. She said she knew they wouldn’t look good on her so she never wears them. Everyone who meets Madonna in person will find this as a surprise - she’s so tiny but she seems so big in movies, in music.”

Larger than life, as the undisputed Queen of Pop, that rings very true. And then I hear;

“She doesn’t want to show off too much either because she’s aware of what looks good on her.”

Not show off? The author of ‘Sex’, (as one review stated, “the dirtiest coffee table book in America”) veiled up? Did motherhood bring a conservative wrap to the star of ‘Body of Evidence’?


“I don’t think she’s turned more conservative because she has a very unique style when she’s on stage,” counters her friend and, until the H&M contract ends, colleague. “She wants to be well-dressed and glamourous during her performances. She’s so fit, she’s in her 40s and my god, what a body!”

Ah, that sounds all too familiar. I know this might seem like a foolish question but it begs to be asked; why Madonna? Unlike, say a film icon like the late Audrey Hepburn, to inspire a collection Mrs Ritchie hasn’t exactly been universally been applauded for her sartorial choices. “Well, she’s very style conscious. Madonna has always been her own stylist, unlike other celebrities. She stands out from others in her own way, and since she started in the ‘80s, she has been very much aware of how she looks and what image she projects. Even when she worked with famous designers, she was always interested in how she would come across. If she didn’t like something by Galliano, Versace or Gaultier, she would tell them. She’s a very strong woman.”

The power yoga and Pilates aside, the True Blue superstar has never been accused of being a wallflower in any of her avatars, over her much morphed, reinvented persona. But the thought of her hemming a skirt or pulling a thread through the eye of the needle doesn’t sit well – nor does the image of her at the drawing board bubble up.

“Well of course she doesn’t sketch, she hasn’t studied fashion like a student!” says van den Bosch with a barely suppressed smile. “All celebrities have someone behind them that makes the collections because they are not designers. I don’t think any of the stars can sketch, not just Madonna!”



Jessica Simpson, Jennifer Lopez, Beyoncé, the Duchess of York… The celebrity bandwagon laying claim on the term ‘designer’ is much ballyhooed and quite often booed. With a laugh (in agreement perhaps) van den Bosch continues, “Celebrities transmit the style, someone does the sketch and puts it all into paper, and someone else makes it. When we went to see Madonna at her home, I had a trained artist with me who did sketches of her ideas. Then she would say things like, ‘I like that, no, not that, I would never wear that. Make this sleeve like this, tighter…”

Were there any disagreements?

“Well…” she says with a pause and slight trepidation before full disclosure. “OK, well, she wanted the entire collection to be in black! Then we said maybe a little white and coffee colour, but she didn’t really want any other colours at all at first! Then she agreed to basics but she did draw the line at things like flowers and too many patterns.”

With a humble shrug, she says, “I think if I had designed it, well, I would have put in more volume and included other colours but that’s her choice. And it’s very her. This is Madonna’s collection in every sense.”

There is much more to H&M’s story than Madonna of course, with over 100 designers from around Europe and Asia contributing to ever-changing collection of ready-to-wear clothes. The company’s philosophy of bring affordable and quality clothes to the masses resulted in an annual turnover of over US$9.8 billion last year alone. Since the first retail store opened in Sweden in 1947, there are now over 1,300 others in 24 countries throughout Europe, the Middle East, and North America. There are over 50,000 employees, approximately 700 independent suppliers in Asia and Europe, and 21 production offices dotted across the map. All those numbers, facts and figures have been temporarily eclipsed by one superstar and her ceaseless, sphinx-like ability to cast out the old and rejuvenate herself each year.

As we hit the exit of H&M with goody bags in tow (a white scarf covered in black ‘M’ monograms) under the shadow of her gigantic billboard where she’s sprawled out a la Cleopatra.

I wonder if you can overdose on Madonna?!

“Well, what can I say?” rhetorically asks the lesser known M, Margareta van den Bosch,. “Madonna is… Madonna!”

Say no more. Say no more.



Images courtesy of H&M, Moxie PR company in Hong Kong. Portrait of Margareta by Hyvis Tong

Top Drawer: Hong Kong Society, As I see it.

Published in WestEast magazine... a while ago.

TOP DRAWER

One innocuous summer five years ago, fresh out of University, P.Ramakrishnan was thrown into the deep end of a social whirlpool as a Society columnist for a local newspaper in Hong Kong. Armed with a thesaurus, his father’s silk ties and a poison pen… well, digital Dictaphone (!), he wrote his weekly column. WestEast asked him to recollect Hong Kong society, as only he can.






My first memory of a society event (which I re-Christened my first lah-di-dah dinner) was at the Swanzes*, one of the wealthiest families in South East Asia, encumbered with property, hotels and restaurant chains. It was a cocktail and finger-food soiree they had thrown in honour of their daughter turning 32. For the third time in as many years.

Pink champagne guzzling socialites and their entourage were exchanging scathing reports on the previous months engagements and by consensus came to the conclusion that the dinner thrown by the ****** Consul general’s girlfriend, was, by far, the worst cocktail reception in loving memory. Even his perfectly elegant Missus, who smoked a cigarette off a lacquered black YSL filter, conceded that her husband’s taste in wine and women, was horrific.

Dressed, not unlike a sickly sweet haze of pink cotton candy, Melinda Swanze’s cheeks were coated with more foundation than the mezzanine floor of the building my polished, overpriced Italian shoes were standing on. Gravity was fast catching up on Melinda though sobriety wasn’t, and her sunken cheeks gave the charade away; this would be her last thirty-faux party.

She hugged me and stained my cheeks with her lipstick with the affection one reserves for a favourite cousin, not an intern at a paper you’ve just met an hour ago.

“Thank you sooo much for coming darling!”

I soon learned that the affectionate terms I had garnered quickly that night (“Sweetie! Darling! Cookie-dough! Babz!”) was not due to my endearing personality; the pet names and adjectives indicated nothing more than the fact they had forgotten my real, multi-syllabic name.

Cornered by her equally inebriated mother, under a preposterously large chandelier, that in any other circumstance would be a prop in a swashbuckling ‘30’s flick, I was asked, “So which part of India are you from?”

If memory serves me correctly, I’m sure I sighed and repeated, “South India, from Kerala, it’s at the very tip of the country, you know, which makes the V on the continent…”

“You’re South Indian?… but you’re not dark and you don’t smell!”

Erm... Right.

Ladies, gentlemen and the undecided, that very night, my first assignment for the Society column, is when I realised, I had long left the isles of Hong Kong, and entered La-la land. An island within an island where the uber-rich, elite and aristocratic had erased the bump and grind of daily life into a polished surface that gleamed like smuggled diamonds from South Africa.

“Manners and morality are the bane of the middle class,” was a favourite quote a blonde air-kissing ‘friend’ (I use that term loosely) had thrown at me one evening while she snapped her fingers like a flamenco dancer to the maitre-d, summoning the bill at a Conde Nast Traveller blessed restaurant.

“In any decent establishment, one would never have to hail for help,” she scoffed, outraged for being left waiting. “An entire evening should be choreographed like a fan dance, just one fluid motion after another. This place is the pits!”

After a five-course meal and four glasses of heady Chilean wine, interrupted often with amuse-bouche, I didn’t phrase it as such in my review but then, it had long been established that I was just a peasant with degrees who knew nothing about nothing important.

The decadent, the delicious, the devious and decaying (the Asia Forbes wealthiest list is brimming with octogenarian heads of various multi-national companies!), the fab and the frivolous (starlets and PR reps), whined and dined in bubbles, impenetrable, imperceptible ones where it wasn’t enough just to have money, but family, heritage, property, history and geography came into play.

Society is this labyrinth of interlocking arteries as so-and-so was so-and-so’s second cousin from his mother’s side, and owners of major buildings and landmarks were often known simply us, “Uncle and Aunty Ho!”

In this zenith-realm, seismic events like the fall of the Berlin Wall, the birth of the Euro, 9/11, SARS and tsunamis, are nothing more than headlines that affected interest rates and property prices in their global portfolio.

At a pre-fall/winter show dinner at the Grand Hyatt, one of the ladies-who-lunch bemoaned, “Did you see that poor Nate Berkus on CNN? The one who designed Oprah’s walk-in-closet? I wanted his company to do my New York penthouse… it’ll never be done in time now.”

Indeed, the interior decorator stuck in Sri Lanka during the horrific Tsunami was a favourite name to throw around among the crème de la crème (for about a month, it was, as everything is, a fad).

He was on Oprah, he was on People magazine, he was a demi-god for the day. His plight and utter devastation seemed minute when compared with an apartment denuded of carpets and well-appointed tea light holders.

Sympathetic nods bobbed up and down around the table and had their foreheads been free of snake venom (botox was for sissies), the coterie of divas would have expressed their concern with furrowed brows.

“Look, she’s here…” uttered the head of local charity (not unlike their counterparts in US and US, you’re really not society unless you’re on board of a charity, glamourous ones that shone with celebrity dust on gala nights), while slightly tilting her head in the direction of the grand foyer entrance, brocaded with obsequious penguin-suits.

Strutting in as though she never left the catwalk a decade ago, the former-model hyphen socialite was pouting for the wife-beater clad paparazzi. Aglow with flashbulbs, her poise hadn’t left her the way her husband had.

“Please don’t write about her in your column dear, she is NOT society,” whispered someone in my perked ears. “I’ve seen her take public transport…”

“But of course,” I replied in the thickest English accent gulping an outrageous giggle that always cropped up facetiously when I heard one of those quotable quotes. My other favourite was, “God, is that an Esprit?”

Let me rewind; at a Dior gala dinner, the laminate invitation card heralded the motif (black, red and diamonds) in a scripted font that indicated, with each curved alphabet that aberrations to the dress code would not be taken lightly. The suit was black, my shirt was red and though my bank account said otherwise, I looked like I fit in well. Bracketed with two mega-watts of the social circuit, the night of haute couture and cuisine was near-perfection. Or so I thought.

In the midst of drink and dance, my friendly neighbour saw a lapel protruding out of my shirt that unquestionably indicated that I was indeed wearing an Esprit shirt. She inhaled deeply and said, “God, is that an Esprit?” in the same tone one would say, “God, is that a blood-charred body in the library?”


In the harem, there was a charlatan in the mix! Though I essayed the role of an ingredient that mixed in well in any cocktail, like a bloated olive, I really wasn’t part of the drink at hand.

“Um, yeah. I didn’t have any red shirts and I couldn’t find one quickly…”

With a sympathetic nod she turned away and feigns ignorance, till date, that we ever met and slow danced to Unchained Melody one drunken night at Backroom*. Being the soul of propriety and decorum, I return the favour.

Not to be an ungracious prat, I must concede that I did meet some truly fine and refined folks – but their scandal and quirk free existence does not make a decent read. But what they know, ah, that’s another tale.

Sitting in a well-cushioned living room facing a postcard panoramic ocean view, at a brunch over the weekend I asked a true-blue socialite scion to analyse the local scene, under the solemn oath that no names shall appear in print.

“Only in Hong Kong will you find someone waiting to be photographed in a blouse which has a label of the brand slapped right across the front,” she says as her man Friday leaves a saucer full of slivers of soft-cheese. “You’d never see that in Paris or Milan would you? A big sign like ‘Eat-at-Joe’s’! A walking advertisement, who the **** does that? No sense of subtlety. They’re as sad as those who want to buy a title from England and come back. I’m Sir this and that from Wanker-shire. Oh please,”

As a circle of guffaws echo in the living room, even the portrait in the corridor of the lady-in-residence’s ancestors seem to smirk in concurrence.

Is there sex in the city? Are there Dallas and Dynasty like scandals burgeoning up at the Peak that we philistines know nothing about?

“Some… but nothing heavy-duty. Its all acquisition of another kind. The in-the-sheets business is the realm of the younger, gauche lot. But feuds and family dramas – well, its been splashed in the papers all the time. Murder, kidnapping, illegitimate children, drugs, infidelity. But nothing out of the ordinary that you wouldn’t find in New York or LA or London or Parisian society,” she says as a silver enamel toothpick, stabbed with the finest cheese home delivered from The Peninsula, tickles her Swiss-chalet attuned palette. “They’re just not as well attired…”

“And its just as vulgar as it is in London. Tattle-tales and lurid pictures in the tabloids,” says her sister-in-law, originally reluctant to speak out against the fraternity but diving into the conversation. She relinquishes, “There’s no style and dignity. Using the p.a. to make sure they are photographed by the snappers entering clubs or shopping at a luxury store. Remember that insane woman who walked around saying, ‘I am the mistress of whatshisname, the property tycoon?’ It was all whispers at first – but then, there she was, herself announcing it to the photographers!”

Agreeing whole-heartedly beside her, the one-who-must-not-be-named continues in the same vein, “It’s the folks dying to be treated well by somebody – if its society editors, chefs or concierges and they try so hard. I see it as psychological displacement, they were not treated well before or they’re not at home so they demand it outside.”

With a slow pause she concludes, “It’s rather sad.”

Can you tell new money from old?

“If they treat waiters shabbily. Or their maids or their drivers. When they’re just rude for no reason, I hear warning bells! Anyone with any dignity treats others with such. Classic nouveu riche mistake.”

“When they have to ring up people to make sure they’re in print. Even the retarded press knows who’s who and who’s not.”

“The head-to-toe covered in bling girl. I call her Brandi Shopsalot. No style or substance, everything they’re wearing is a flashy label and she picked it out of a magazine. These are the folks that think Jennifer Lopez is a style icon.”

“Yes, there was this ex-stewardess who was wearing a plain silk blouse but she wanted everyone to know she got it from Prada. Why announce it? Just reeked of insecurity and it just made it even more pathetic. Who cares? Wear a Giordano T-shirt but don’t be apologetic about it!”

“Anyone who’s ever said, “Do you know who I am?”

“Overdressed for an event. For a mall event, that Lane Crawford shoe-thing at IFC, this woman turned up decked up to the hilt in a cocktail dress! Hello, it’s a 5 o-clock pre-everything! Dress for the occasion, not the picture!”

“Lack of humour. I don’t mean being funny-ha-ha but, taking everything so seriously.”

“The name-droppers. Just as bad as the brand-name droppers”

“Oh the star-****ers. They’d get so excited if Ekin Chan was in the same room and would hound a photographer to make sure they’re caught together!”

“Anyone who makes a scene at a restaurant. If it’s the fault of the management, you leave quietly and never return but screaming in public is so down-market. Anyone caught screaming or shouting in public. Nothing nearly as civilised as a law-suit!”

“When they’re at every event and opening. If they knew the press would cover it, they’d be there at the opening of a 7-Eleven!”

“The false identities – you know when they say they went to Oxford, but really went to Oxford Brooks.”

By the end of the flurry of quotes, polite laughter made room for belly-clutching laughter as re-enactments of well-known wanna-bes were performed in the room. So what makes Hong Kong society so special? So different?

“The local flavour. A wife and mistress having lunch is almost French but how about when the first, second and third wives live across each other?!” she says. “I don’t know... you have to see it for the fish tank it is. Bulbous goldfish that are swimming near the top but it’s a big fish in a small pond who thinks what he sees around him is “it”. Everything’s a bit distorted, the vision is myopic. Take that floater out and throw him into the sea and he’ll choke… so he stays put.”

“That’s rather deep for a lofty conversation about high society in Hong Kong…”

“Or… I’ve got the Jones for sushi.”

Ah!


* Backroom - Private Club on Arbuthnot Road, Central, Hong Kong. Now closed and where Cafe O is.

UPDATE: Most of the bars and restaurants in this feature sadly have closed since publication .
June 2020

Naomi Campbell: Queen of the Fight

Naomi Campbell stands out for being 'the' supermodel amongst supermodels, who has sashayed around the globe, graced innumerable magazine covers and lived a life so extraordinary, scarcely will the next generation believe such a beauteous creature ever existed. P.Ramakrishnan was in conversation with the catwalk queen.




Controversy’s favourite fledgling, the only supermodel to grace the cover of TIME, Naomi Campbell, 35, is indubitably the most astonishing sight to behold our attention for now nearly two decades (she was but a teen when she started her illustrious career).

The fab five a decade ago were not the makeover specialists from a mediocre TV show, they were the vainglorious divas that included the elite, impenetrable circle of Claudia Schiffer, Christy Turlington, Cindy Crawford, Linda Evangelista and Naomi Campbell. A heady brew of extreme beauty, power, wealth and fame, they were the deities destined for idle worship. Strutting, sauntering and sizzling when they made US$10,000 per show (the infamous Evangelista quote!), when they dated actors and rockstars (um, all of them!), spent more time on air than the ground as they pirouetted around the planet.

Post-millennium, where are the supermodels of this decade? Pretenders to the throne, there are many who come in with a bang, and leave without a whimper. In a profession where hitting 24 is the kiss of death, Campbell’s pouty lips still smirk across the A-list publications.

You’ve been defining what beautiful is to the world for over a decade now. The only black supermodel to make the cover of TIME magazine and, though there are other aspects that make you the defining supermodel, your career’s largely dependent on your looks. Do you worry about your looks?
Well, my mother [fashion designer and sometime model Valerie Campbell] looks wonderful and I hope I inherit that from her. But no, I don’t worry about my looks. I take care of myself.


TBC...



Please note that this tele-conversation with the supermodel, part-time actress/singer/author and full time diva Naomi Campbell was conducted days before… well, let’s call it the unfortunate, headline making, stop-the-press breaking incident! You know, the one with ‘the actress’ claiming Campbell attacked her. A headline that’s cropped up annually over the last decade. The case is still pending as we go to print...




Published in Kee magazine,
Fall 2005

Asia Spa Men's issue shoot: Menswear Location Shoot: Summer 2009

The Blue Lagoon

Perhaps a reflection of the economic times but men’s fashion has got a hint of the blues. Various shades of the moody hues have crept into designer labels and the designer conscience as the colour made guest appearances in every collection this (and past) season. Photographer Ike found a slice of paradise in one of the hundreds of islets that constitute Hong Kong and did this fine shoot, far from the madding crowd. Cool, calm and collected, we focus on the serene aspects of the azure template and sapphire shades.

• Producer: P.Ramakrishnan
• Photography: Ike
• Assistant: Cal
• Hair & Makeup: Karen Yiu
• Model: David Oshry from Model International
• Location: Hong Kong  

Striped shirt from Versace, striped shorts from Vintage at Lane Crawford, Emporio Armani white briefs (available at Rouge Amour), blue suede shoes from Cole Haan, shades from Shanghai Tang and watch from Ernst Benz

Indigo check trousers from Lane Crawford, printed briefs by John Galliano (available at Rouge Amour), J.M. Weston black leather sandals, large leather bag from the Boss Orange collection by Hugo Boss, model carrying a blue and brown zipped cardigan by Hermes, shades from Shanghai Tang and watch from Ernst Benz

Hooded sweatshirt in grey/blue perforated suede lambskin and printed blue swimming trunks by Hermes, diamond and gold pendant by Stenzhorn at Masterpiece by king fook, J.M. Weston black leather sandals and watch from Ernst Benz

Blue angel print jeans by KSubi from Lane Crawford, leather sandals by Salvatore Ferragamo, diamond and gold pendant by Stenzhorn at Masterpiece by king fook, shades from Shanghai Tang and watch from Ernst Benz

White linen shirt, baby blue pashmina by Fine’n’Rhine, white linen pants from Daks London, leather sandals by Salvatore Ferragamo and watch from Ernst Benz

Blue jeans by Blaak from Harvey Nichols, blue linen scarf by Loro Piana, brown leather bag by Salvatore Ferragamo, shades model’s own, shoes by Cole Haan and watch from Ernst Benz

T-shirt by John Galliano, blue boxer-briefs by Dolce & Gabbana (both available at Rouge Amour), embroidered sarong from Fine’n’Rhine and watch from Ernst Benz.

BEHIND THE SCENES

The images were glam, the heat and humidity of Hong Kong... not so great! Intrepid crew made it work. Famed American photographer Ike kept his cool throughout. Karen Yiu--the hair and makeup genius and my most frequent collaborator--reminded me again why she's the best in the biz, both as a talent and as a person. David, well, he's OK. The highest paid male model in Hong Kong, wrestling his timetable with his agency was a feat in itself. 

Aishwarya Rai: WestEast magazine profile

Over the years, I've written a lot, a looooooooooooot of articles about  Aishwarya Rai, Indian actress, supermodel... GODDESS!! This one was for WestEast magazine a few years ago. The one-sided love-fest at least helped me pay some bills!
= )

Seeing her live in Macau was one of many dreams come true - and you really haven't lived till you've seen her perform on stage!

The other top 'live' moments include interviewing Amitabh Bachchan, hearing Lata Mangeshkar and S.P. Balasubramanium sing live (in Hong Kong 1994), watching Hrithik Roshan moonwalk, walking across Hyde Park arm in arm with Naomi Campbell, and getting kissed on the cheek by Sushmita Sen (!). I've lived baby! hahaha


Previous Feature on Aishwarya Rai:
Horray For Bollywood

Maiden Italy: Monica Bellucci

Temptation, thy name is Monica Bellucci. Actress and celebrated beauty, not necessarily in that order, P.Ramakrishnan was in conversation with Italy’s hottest export. In a Kee exclusive, he finds a reluctant sex symbol who’s happier at home coaxing her new baby to sleep, than coquettishly cajoling cine-goers to sleepless nights.



American cinema, indeed the world film arena, has long been fascinated with Italian actresses. Since the perfectly petulant pout of Sophia Loren protruded off the celluloid in Quo Vadis (1951) and Aida (1953), audiences have had to close their gaping, gawking mouths, and lick their dry lips back to life. Scorching screen presence that eclipses everything else in the frame, Monica Bellucci is very much like her pulchritudinous predecessor and yet so different.

“I am not crazy enough to compare myself to Sophia Loren!” laughs Bellucci, in that soft breathless chuckle that has thrilled her fanatics in the past decade that she’s blossomed under the arc lights in.

“Oh my God! It’s too much. She’s the person I wanted to be. When I was little, I dreamed about Sophia [Loren]. I always wanted to be an actress because where I was, we used to watch classic Italian movies and there was no one like Loren. I haven’t met her yet but I really want to and tell her, she’s my dream! I cannot compare with her. There will never be another Sophia Loren.”

True as that may be, Bellucci pours into the curvaceous mold left vacant by the legendary Loren as no one else hitherto has – her reluctance withstanding.



Tempting mortals to mortal sin, as Persephone in the Matrix series, Cleopatra in Astérix & Obélix and even in her maudlin role as Magdalen in Passion of Christ, she brought her devilish good looks to her saintly role. She’s donned the role of the belle of the ball often, but give her role she can bite into, and she’ll chew up the scenery.

Starring as Malena Scordia in the (often sepia-toned-) epic Malena (2000), it was her first taste at a gravely serious role, and ours of the full potential of the stunning actress. The world caught only a glimpse of her in the American film Dracula (“A cameo really, it was a very small role but I was asked by Francis Ford Coppolla and who says no to Coppolla?”) but it was an Italian film that hit global theatres, where a collective gasp erupted in the aisles as Bellucci appears on screen.

Raw emotions, naked flesh, gut-wrenching violence, palpable tragedy and, merciful  redemption. It had it all.

“Malena was a very difficult role and I’m so proud of it. It’s been four years since the film and I look back and I’m glad that I did it. Beautifully shot, it was the vision of the director Giuseppe Tornatore – who also made Cinema Paradiso – that made it wonderful. I always pick my movies according to the director. The box-office, the role, the money, all else is incidental!” she confesses.

There were some graphic scenes of violence depicted against Bellucci’s character. Set in World War II, she is lynched by the village for having slept with a German soldier. She’s left bloodied and bruised, her hair pulled out in clumps and she appears in an unflattering crew/lobotomy-cut. Were there any fears of appearing ugly – especially when you’re listed amongst the most beautiful women in the world?

“No. It was an education for me. Perhaps an American actress would have been afraid to look ugly but I am European don’t forget,” she laughs, tongue in chic. 

“Listen, all this magazine covers and the beautiful lists, it means nothing. How many women are on the planet? Did they meet all of them? It’s flattering of course – better the magazines say I look good than I look bad all the time! I don’t take all that too seriously. In a movie, I am a character and what my director says, I do on film. I learnt new sides of myself when I did and saw that.”

Suddenly breaking into a tangent, she says, “I am surprised that Malena was shown in Hong Kong? Really? Well, that’s the power of having a distributor like Miramax. You know in Italian cinema, or European, there’s no budget for exhibitors so only a few people can see the rare, wonderful films. Not like American movies which the whole world can watch.”

She’s proud of her cinematic heritage and dutifully recognised so by the Italian foreign press association, which awarded her the European Golden Globe cinema gong on July 2nd, for her contribution in bringing awareness of Italian cinema to the globe. But she’s concerned for the ailing industry too.

“How many movies now get made in Italy? 10? 12? Fifteen at most. There’s no encouragement for young, new talent. No support. Not like France where cinema is in the culture. They make 200 movies a year and a dozen are made in Italy. I hope there’ll be more done with government or corporate investment in films. How else will they find the next Fellinni?”

How indeed.

Passionate though she is about her hometown, currently, she resides in Paris with her husband actor Vincent Cassel. The couple met in 1996 on the set of the French film, L'Appartement, and they went on to star in eight films in the following years. The duo recently starred together in the French film Agents Secrets, but their joint production of now 10-month-old baby girl Deva is what Bellucci’s most thrilled about.

“Deva, it means creature from heaven in Sanskrit. I loved the sound of it, just four little letters but it means so much and it sounds like an old Italian name. She is surrounded by Italian, French and English (my agent is American and always with me!).”

Not uncommon with new moms, she gushes about her new baby, “Her birth was of course my biggest moment of my life…” she suddenly pauses. “Can you hear her in the background? Most incredible thing for a woman. That is of course if a woman wants it to be. I know many women who don’t want to have children and they’re so happy with it. It’s not the same for everybody and it is about choice. Which is very important.”

This freedom of choice isn’t a phrase that she’s belted out as a pseudo-feminist overture. Bellucci strongly feels for her sisterhood – all too visible when she was among the protesters speaking against the Vatican not long ago.

Bellucci posed nude and pregnant in Vanity Fair (Italy) as a remonstration against the new Italian laws, which allow only married couples to use in-vitro fertilization (Ivf) and prohibits the use of donor sperm. With a group of doctors who went on strike, supported by Nobel prize-winning scientists, Italy’s premier actress marched and famously demanded: "What do politicians and priests know about my ovaries?"

A quote that, predictably, landed in all the papers and infuriated a few papal caps.

She continues in the same vein, “There’s too much integration and interference from the Church in Italy. It was such a horrible moment when we lost. We’re going back in history. Italy’s the only place where there’s such a close relation between Church and state and that’s very dangerous. The state should dictate the law, not the Church but that’s not the case. This law is against women. I’m mostly worried about poorer women. If you’re rich, this law doesn’t affect you – you can just fly off to Switzerland or France or anywhere else and get IVF, no matter what your age. But what options do poor women have? They can go to church and pray for a miracle!?

Indeed, the efforts to overturn laws on fertility treatment in Italy failed because of the dramatically low turnout in a two-day referendum. A victory for the Vatican, which had called for a boycott of the campaign, and a personal loss for her.

“I am not a political actress. I went to speak as a woman. I was pregnant at the time when I saw what was happening and I had to do something about it. But… what was the point I think now. I didn’t change anything. I was just another woman there against this stupid, stupid law.”

Take a, pun intended, pregnant pause. The voice of dissent against the Vatican comes from the same woman who starred in the mother of all Christian films, The Passion of Christ! The iconic role of Magdalen which she portrayed was seen by billions, the movie went on to gross more than US$600 million worldwide and set a DVD release record for the biggest debut for a live-action title in history!

“Well, let us not confuse the actress with the person!” she grins, a saucy smile playing on her lips. “Any decision I make about films, it’s always about the director. As soon as I met Mel Gibson, I saw his passion for the film, his incredible energy, what he wanted to say. A film in Aramaic, I thought it would be a small little movie, which a few people might see. People told me, why are you doing the movie? Without distribution, it will go nowhere – Mel had to distribute it himself you know? It was a nice working experience for the actress in me, I was crying from the beginning to the end of that film! Always sad, always in that emotional state, the idea of playing something classic, the role of Magdalen was interesting. But it was just a role!”

The press went on to…

”Oh the press is always the same!” she interjects, all too familiar with the direction of the aborted question. “In those times, life was very violent. It was part of the game. It was reality. Life of Jesus was very different at the time, there was torture, there was suffering. When you take a subject like this, religion in general, whether it was Scorsese’s movie (The Last Temptation of Christ, 1988) or anyone else’s on the subject, it inspires people to write and talk a lot about it a lot. I knew there would be a reaction – but I didn’t think the movie would make so much money!”

Sci-fi thrillers, religious epics, historical dramas, within a short span, her career already orbits alongside luminaries in her space. What would tempt this new mom on to a set again?



“Comedy! The last comical role I did was Cleopatra’s for the Asterix movie in France. That was a lot of fun and I am told it is one of the biggest blockbusters in the country. Now, I’m so happy to play the evil queen in the Grimm film!”

The Brothers Grimm, with Matt Damon and Heath Ledger, hits Hong Kong in November, where the tale of Will and Jake Grimm unfolds. The two travelling con-artists encounter a genuine fairy-tale curse which requires courage instead of their usual bogus exorcisms. They meet the evil Queen Mirror, essayed by Bellucci with nefarious glee in the most outrageous costumes.

“It was so much fun to really ‘play’ this role. Gilliam (director) is such a visionary on film – I just saw it a few days ago and it looks wonderful. Such a talented director, he’s made incredible films like Brazil, Twelve Monkeys so I knew the film would shape up well. And it has. I have the role of a very old woman but with a magic spell I curse myself – yes, I become young but very mean. This evil person, to play that was so funny. I enjoyed it completely.”

You have one life to live they say, well, seven life cycles according to Hinduism (not to divorce from Bellucci’s newfound love for Sanskrit!), so why not enjoy it right?

“Right! Each movie, my modelling, my studies, everything I’ve done was an experience for me. Any movie that didn’t make any money, that was also an experience for me. The memories last. There’s this flow to my life that I go with - I loved my life in Umeria (where I grew up, a few miles away from Tuscany) but I wanted to be an actress. I went to the city as student but I didn’t want to study anymore so I became a model. Coppolla some pictures of mine and offered me a part, then I became an actress. I enjoyed it so much, I decided to focus on it. In films I met my husband and now we have a child. I’m sure that there’s so many things to learn with each thing I do, life is just a work in progress. I’m just it’s a work in progress,” she concludes.


NOTES:

Full disclosure; deep, mad love for Monica Bellucci. At the time, a life and career-saving interview for me! She is DIVINE!