< 266 IRINA SHAYK < 294 NAGA MUNCHETTY
that moment when they handed my daughter to me, thinking,
“What am I supposed to do?” The next thing I know she’s in the crib,
waking up every two and a half hours to be breastfed. It’s definitely
a learning process. But one thing I can tell you, my relationship with
my mom changed.
Yes, I was going to ask you about that.
I was born in the Soviet Union in ’86 – we had no washer, no dryer,
no diapers. My mom had to stand in line for two or three hours with
my sister, who’s 18 months older than me, to get a bottle of milk. When
my daughter was one and a half, I called my mother and I said to her,
“I cannot believe you had a second baby raising us in that time.” She
told me, “What are you talking about? The second baby was you! You
wanted to tell me not to have you?” I really respect who she is, you
know, after my father died... [starts crying].
I’ve met your mum. She’s amazing.
Sorry. Five-minute cry break!
Always. OK, let’s change the subject. Between work and family, how
do you find time to date? Are you ready yet?
Well, I’m still adjusting. It’s a new chapter in my life, and I really believe
in fate. If the universe sends me the right person, I will think about it.
Do you think people are a little shy to approach you?
I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone. I’ve had several
boyfriends and men in my life who have said they are scared of Irina.
Why?
Well, first of all, there is a stereotype about Russian women – you know,
she loves diamonds and vodka. I mean, hell, I do like that [laughs].
Who doesn’t?
Who doesn’t! I’m a tough person. I have a strong personality and I
definitely know what I want, and I think some men are scared of that.
If somebody’s out of my life, they’re out of my life and I really cut all
the ties, you know? I think some people are really scared of this coldness.
I also think not many people know that underneath this there’s a nice,
sweet person who cries in interviews.
Can you talk a bit about life with, and now after, Bradley.
Life after Bradley is definitely reflective, and I think in all good
relationships you bring your best and your worst – it’s just the nature
of a human being. Two great people don’t have to make a good couple.
I think we’ve been very lucky to experience what we had with each
other. Life without B is new ground.
How have you been doing?
I’ve been doing OK. I have a new love in my life, and it’s Lea.
How is co-parenting after a break-up? What have you learnt, and what
advice can you give to other single mothers?
I always say, “What is co-parenting?” Co-parenting people say, “Oh,
you know, it’s 50/50.” But I’m not 50 per cent of a mom, I’m 100 per
cent. And he’s 100 per cent of a dad. So I don’t see that as co-parenting.
Sometimes, when I say to myself, “Wow, I’m a single mom,” it can
sound a little scary. But it’s doable, and I think women can really handle
a lot of things. I’ve never had a male figure who came into my life and
took care of me. Never.
How do you switch off? Do you have time for yourself?
Every time I take time for myself I feel guilty – I’m sure so many single
moms can relate to this. But I am queen of the spa [laughs].
As one of the world’s sexiest women, when do you feel your most sexy?
Sexy is not just a push-up bra, red lips, high heels and big hair. It’s an
oversized man’s suit. It’s sweatpants. I’ve never met a woman who isn’t sexy.
Where do you see yourself in 10 years?
I just try to enjoy this moment, because life moves so fast, you really
don’t know what’s going to happen. I just hope in 10 years I’m healthy
and my daughter is healthy and my family is happy.
Well said. Lastly, I think it’s very important to say that you also happen
to be one of the funniest people I know.
[Laughs] Thank you. I love people who don’t take themselves seriously.
I don’t have a lot of friends; I don’t open doors to many people in my
life because I’m very protective of my space. But one thing I never
lost is a sense of humour. nShe was broadly championed, but a single formal complaint was made,
claiming she “fell short of due impartiality” and had responded
“critically on the possible motive for, and potential consequences of,
the president’s words”.
Her first reaction was to ignore it. Presenters get complaints all the
time. “My whole attitude was: I’m not the story. This is an internal
issue, and I’ll deal with it how I wish, which is to keep quiet and get
on with my job.” She worked, saw friends, golfed (she has a nine handicap- “better than him!” she quips of Trump) and kept her head down. But
come September, The Times broke the story that an internal BBC inquiry
was set to reprimand her. “Race Row at the BBC,” screamed the inevitable
headlines. When the corporation confirmed it was partially upholding
the complaint, it was a full-blown crisis.
Granted, two days later, Tony Hall reversed the ruling. “Racism is
racism and the BBC is not impartial on the topic,” he wrote in an open
email to staff. But not before public outcry, including an open letter to
The Guardian from 61 leading broadcasters condemning its actions.
Which raises the question: is the BBC, like so many organisations,
institutionally racist? Munchetty pauses. “See, the problem with you
asking me a question like that, Giles, is the answer I will give will be
your headline,” she says. “I’m going to turn it on its head: find me
a large organisation, and find me an employee from a minority group
who feels they are able to bring their true self to work today. I don’t
think you’ll be able to.
“What I will say is very positive things have come out of this,”
she continues. “What it has done is raise an uncomfortable conversation
that needed to be raised. An ugly, ugly subject, and not something
that only happens in the BBC.” Do you get much face time with Hall
now? “We have regular meetings since this has happened, because
he wants to listen,” she says. “Trust me, he’s angry that this is happening
on his watch.”
She’s had a lot of support. From people in the street – “Go, Naga!” - and her starry co-workers. It’s the junior colleagues who worry her,
though. She was approached by a young staffer recently outside the
quayside studios who said, “I don’t know how much longer I can stay
here.” She shakes her head. “If I can’t say something, how is a young
producer going to be able to say stuff without fearing that they’re going
to be seen as someone with a chip on their shoulder? They’re in
environments where the management, or those above them, don’t look
like them, don’t have their experiences. We’re talking class, we’re talking
sex, we’re talking about sexuality, we’re talking gender. We’re talking
about everything. Not just colour.”
“We’ve got a moment where big corporations are going to start looking
at themselves and say, ‘This is not good enough,’” she says. Naturally,
initiatives are afoot to bring in and promote more minorities. She
supports them while having no illusions about the scale of the task.
“We hold ourselves up to a much higher standard. We agonisingly tear
ourselves apart, self-examine and self-flagellate, and do you know what?”
she adds, fiercely. “Rightly so.” For now, though, whether it’s in the
corridor at work or in an email, she finds herself encouraging her minority
co-workers to “hold on”.
Having said what she wants to, Munchetty visibly relaxes. The last
of the bottle is poured. “I was brought up to assimilate, not rock the
boat,” she says. Yet here we are. This afternoon she’ll return to her
regular life; gym (“I’m more scared about the photoshoot than this
interview”), then home to her husband tomorrow. More golf, more
theatre nights, more cat content posted to her Twitter.
And what then? She adores Breakfast, has pay parity with her
colleagues, and no intention of leaving. But surely the biggest
jobs beckon – Today? Newsnight? Fiona Bruce can’t keep Sunday nights
to herself forever. “You know, I kind of think The Krypton Factor should
be brought back. I have this really competitive edge about me.”
One thing is certain; Munchetty has carved out her space as one of
the most influential faces at a corporation struggling to make sense
of itself for a new decade. “I wouldn’t call it power,” she says, her gaze
clear. “I’d call it responsibility.” n
33203-20-WELL-Turnpage_1924284.indd 332 09/01/2020 16:26