Editor’s Letter; Things We Love; Megan Nicol Reed
Nicole Kidman is 50. How did that happen? I’ve known of her since I was about 12 — we went to the same high school and even then she was talked about in hushed wonder. I even met her briefly once, having scored an invitation to the premiere of Dead Calm (only because my best friend’s mother was the publicist). I was 16 and hyperventilating at how cool I was, until I was given the onceover by Nicole and found wanting. When you’re a teenager, you tend to assume fame will be yours one day, until the years tick by and you fail to set the world alight in any meaningful manner, and suddenly you realise those hogging the limelight are somehow younger. Anyway, Nicole. Famous, talented but always five years older than me! And now she’s 50, and, having laid off the Botox, looking amazing and feeling blessed. Of course she is. And here am I, five years to go, feeling not remotely Nicole Kidman, but decidedly more Shane Watson, who writes on page 16 about what no one tells you about the big 5-0.