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ZFB: SOOOO... WHAT WAS IT LIKE KISSING MATTHEW
McCONAUGHEY?
ZFB: No. Do it properly.
ZFB: FINE. YOU GREW UP IN THE SMALL TOWN OF BUNDANOON:
DID YOU HAVE THE IDYLLIC UPBRINGING? HOW DID IT
SHAPE WHO YOU ARE? DID YOU RIDE A TRACTOR TO SCHOOL?
WERE THERE BUNYIPS?
ZFB: I had a free-range childhood. We lived in town but
with a cow, chooks, bees and multiple vegie gardens so
we could live self-sufficiently. Wheatgrass juice if we
were sick, arnica if we stacked, no TV – Mum and Dad
sacrificed a lot to give us a healthy, alternative
upbringing. (Of course, all I wanted was white
bread and Full House.) I was the youngest and on
my own a lot. I think this probably taught me
independence, and how to be okay with my owncompany. Also it meant I read a lot. (The Baby-Sitters
Club, but still: reading.)
ZFB: HOW DO YOU GO FROM BUNDANOON TO A CAREER
IN BEAUTY? WHAT WAS THE FIRST STEP? HOW MUCH
COULD YOU HAVE POSSIBLY KNOWN ABOUT HIGHLIGHTING
BACK THEN?
ZFB: I got my BA in media and communications at uni
before starting in magazines. After a few years in kid/
teen mags, I was hired as beauty editor at Cosmopolitan.
ZFB: AND WHO DID YOU SLEEP WITH TO GET THAT JOB?
JUST INITIALS ARE FINE.
ZFB: I’m the first to admit I came in with zero beauty
experience/atrocious eye makeup, but you learn on
the job. Beauty editors are writers who learn how
to translate beauty tips, technology and trends, not
beauty experts who write.
ZFB: YOU PUBLISHED YOUR FIRST BOOK AT 27 (WITH A BIG,
PRETENTIOUS LAUNCH FROM MEMORY). HOW DID YOU GO
ABOUT REALISING THIS DREAM?
ZFB: It wasn’t my dream, per se. I was getting antsy at
Cosmo after a few years and needed a side project. But
I reckon writing Air Kisses for the fun of it was maybe
not a terrible idea. I wasn’t attached to the win; I was
just enjoying it. And filling in time cos my then-
boyfriend was away all the time, to be honest.
ZFB: DO YOU DRAW ON YOUR PERSONAL EXPERIENCES FOR
YOUR FICTION? HOW DOES THAT GO? GOT ANY FRIENDS LEFT?
ZFB: A few, but they’re mostly in it for the free Go-To.
ZFB: ANSWER PROPERLY OR JUZ WILL CUT THE PIECE AND
PUT A JENNER ON THE COVER.
ZFB: With Air Kisses and Playing The Field, I ripped
aggressively from my friends and life, cos you write
what you know. (The trick is to change one key thing
about their personality – so if your RL friend never
wears jeans, have the character they’re based on in
jeans constantly.) (Also, it’s best to change their name.)
I’d used up all the juicy bits of my life by The Younger
Man, so I had to create genuinely fictional characters
and situations. Soo inconvenient.
ZFB: HAVE YOU ALWAYS BEEN ENTREPRENEURIAL? WHAT
DRIVES YOU, APART FROM YOUR CEASELESS NEED FOR
DIAMONDS AND YACHTS?
ZFB: It’s the creation bit I love. The spark of a good
idea, and then acting on it. I want anything I produce to
be good for people kind enough to try it, but it’s
the momentum and process I enjoy most. I wish I could
do 50 projects a year.
ZFB: ON TO GO-TO. HOW DID YOU LEARN TO BE
A BUSINESSHEAD CONSIDERING YOU’RE A WRITER?
EVERYBODY KNOWS WRITERS ARE SHIT AT BUSINESS.
ZFB: True enough. I don’t consider myself the classic
businessperson (my accountant would ardently
agree); it’s just that I make stuff as well as books
now. But you know what? At its heart I think
“business” is creative: seeing gaps, making useful
products, earning permission to sell to your ]She’s late. I push the linen shirt from my tanned wrist to check the
time. Approaching 20 minutes. But then, when aren’t celebrities
late? I’d know. I’ve interviewed them all. The Kims, the Angelinas,
the Georges and the Oprahs: always late. It’s in their blood. I once
waited two months in a brasserie for Catherine Zeta-Jones.
Suddenly, the door of the restaurant slams shut. A vision
enters, bathed in sunlight; indescribably alluring. Glowing skin,
hair styled to look as though it hasn’t, legs that extend from her
heels to her hips, expensive handbag, a face. Indescribable.
She looks around with confidence. It’s tinted with faux
self-consciousness so as not to be intimidating. She knows how to
balance it. She knows that people love you until they hate you, and
when you look like her and you live like that, haters are never far.
She smiles at the maître d’ and the heavens open; all is right
with the world when that face is looking at you. She can sense
everyone in the restaurant looking at her, and she is comfortable
with it, because it’s in her DNA and under her fingernails and in
her pores and also I am the only one here.
She’s been spectacularly blessed, and this fact hasn’t escaped
her. Oh sure, she plays the “gratitude game” when handsome,
erudite, award-winning schmucks like me probe, but deep down
she knows she was destined to a life less ordinary.
Behind her is a small commotion. The door slams again, and
a small, mousey brunette is shuffling around on the floor, collecting
various accoutrements from a spilled handbag. She finally stands
up. Her hair is a mess, there is a small stain on the front of her
blouse and her dull shoes are lacking the height and glamour
so crucial for a woman.
“Hi!” she says, panting, politely edging past the tall, luscious
creature in heels. “I’m Zoë.”
This displays all the hallmarks of a thrilling profile piece, but
the “editor” of ELLE, “Justine”, said it was too “much” and I should
“stop” right “away”.
I was asked to write my own profile, you see. After all, who
knows me better than me?! Probably Beyoncé cos she is my best
friend. More accurately, who else would be arrogant enough to
attempt the originality and meta-journalism required for such
a breathtaking piece of narcissism?
Me, you sweet fools. Me.