I
t’s an unseasonably warm
August day when I meet
Samantha Harris in the offices
of her model agency, Chic. She
greets the staff warmly as she
walks through the room, her
famous bee-stung lips broadening into a
bright smile, her statuesque frame
accentuated by cropped pants and black
boots. The office is a second home for
the beautiful young woman whose
career took off in her teens, after she was
a finalist in Girlfriend magazine’s model
search and quickly offered a contract.
The polished scene is far removed
from where she grew up in Tweed Heads,
NSW, and the charity shop clothes that
her Indigenous mother, Myrna Sussye,
would buy for her to wear in pageants.
She would tell Samantha: “You’ll look
beautiful anyway. You’ve got to be beauti-
ful on the inside before it becomes visual.”
Samantha has a reputation for being
shy, but her generosity of spirit is evident
as she discusses the work she does with
the Tjungu Festival in Uluru, celebrat-
ing Indigenous arts and culture, or her
ambassador roles with Priceline’s
Sisterhood Foundation and Make-A-
Wish. Her face lights up when she talks
about the family she adores. Myrna was
one of the Stolen Generations, but that
didn’t stop her being a brilliant mum,
says her daughter, raising Samantha,For this much-loved
model the most joyful
time in her life was
also the most painful.
By Holly Fielding
Sam’s
secret