Banksy exhibit lets a famed PR Thing resurface
Is Danielle Iversen back?
In the first half of the aughts — back when nobody knew what a Fitbit was, and weddings didn’t come with hashtags, and Gwyneth Paltrow was still most famous for being an actress — the Palm Pilot-toting PR vet was as ubiquitous as ubiquitous gets in the party topography of Toronto.
Both brazen and daffy — in seemingly equal parts — the glasses-fronting blond was known for several things: having the body of a Vegas cocktail server, coupled with a propensity for calling everyone “Hun” like an oldschool diner waitress; running with the title she’d been lobbed in some quarters of the press as the “Lizzie Grubman of Canada” (a dubious reference, indeed, considering Grubman was the infamous New York power-publicist who backed a Mercedes-Benz SUV into several people in front of a club in the Hamptons during that era, but one that Iversen decided to take as a compliment, all things considered!); a knack for not hearing “no” (like, ever).
But then, like so many things — Juicy Couture, The Strokes, Ryan Reynolds’ engagement to Alanis Morissette — the moment appeared to recede. The gal behind the company, That PR Thing, never really went away, it’s true. But in a social scene that too often resembles a subtly moving shoreline to me — people come and they go — she seemed further from the horizon. But then — voila! — arrived an email blast just the other day announcing a white-hot event she’s at work at: a big party, this month, on Toronto’s Sterling Rd. to mark the North American launch of The Art of Banksy.
Comprised of 80 original pieces by the now-infamous British graffiti street artist, and culled from a slew of private collections, it carried all the promise of being one of the events of the season, indeed.
Okey-dokey: it was time, perhaps, to do That Interview Thing.
“People think I look 35!” So went one of her opening statements, in the hullabaloo of hi-how-are-yous, when the never-not-colourful Iversen came tumbling into the bar I’d arranged to do a catch-up with her inside — the spiffy new Anndore Hotel, on Charles.
Then, she’d barely finished giving her drink order, when looking down on her finger she realized she was missing her diamond ring — no, not that finger — and that, eek, she may have left it in the change room at the Toronto Lawn Club when she was there earlier putting on her “lemon lotion from Whole Foods.”
After a quick call to the club, it was ascertained that, YES, the ring was there, and an intern was quickly fetched to go collect it. “Send me a photo of the ring before you leave,” she instructed. Never a dull moment! Strolling down memory lane, I moved to remind Iversen of her greatest triumph, possibly, in those earlier glory days. Back when the infamous Canadian press release-sender wound up on the cover of something called The Jewish Magazine. And she’s wasn’t even Jewish!
“They thought I was!” she exclaimed now, remembering the saga.
And by the time the magazine eventually figured out Iversen wasn’t part of The Tribe, so to speak, they went ahead with the cover, regardless! She appeared on the front of the publication — arm-in-arm with Paris Hilton, another famous non-Jew. In the article — titled “Are You on the List?” — Iversen, if I recall, threw around one rather pretty number: 12,000! That’s the number of people she claimed to have in her prized database. (The photo with Hilton, by the way? It was taken at the MuchMusic Video Awards. A photo ambush is one way of putting it! File under: A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.) Our conversation today swerved and skidded after that — often to unexpected places, as is so often the case with the erstwhile It Girl. Some highlights:
She mentioned a younger gay sister — a recovering DJ — who recently got engaged to be married to a woman who, Iversen boomed, “LOOKS JUST LIKE ME!”
“My great-grandmother was a bootlegger,” she shared.
“I threw a party for Ron Jeremy (here during TIFF) on the night of 9/11.” (It’s a long story.)
She went on a bit about how hard it is to get interns these days with a work ethic — “I’m not Miranda Priestly! Can you write that?” — and how finding young people who can conduct actual phone calls — gasp! — is so particularly difficult. And, yup, confirmed, she: the publicist is on the hunt herself for love and marriage (it’s eluded her so far), too, but yet, “all the men who want me are mama’s boys. I’m over that.”
Staying on the subject of the affairs of the heart, Iversen told me what she’s looking for: “a man who will swim in the ocean, in Palm Beach, and jump off boats in Muskoka ... no homebodies. I’m not into homebodies.” Forty years old, she confirms, is her man-minimum. “Someone who will send me pink tulips,” she added. “I hate roses.”
Romance, though, remains on the back-burner — especially now, when there’s a Banksy party to plan, as her constantly purring phone indicates. “It’s a lot of work,” she said about the arty event being hosted jointly by Starvox Entertainment and Live Nation. All hands on deck, all right, at the office she keeps in a lane around the corner from the “Five Thieves,” in Summerhill. “It’s my 20th anniversary next year,” she reminded at one point, as we delved into the many ways PR has changed. (The ubiquity of social media is one, and it’s notable to me that someone like Iversen, for instance, has a mere 500 followers on Instagram — a teeny percentage of the followers that any self-designed “Influencer” in their twenties might have!)
And, yet, though life has moved on in numerable ways — we live in a time now when “ghosting” is a verb, turmeric is all the rage, and Brangelina is dead — Iversen remains ready, as ever, to rumble.