Polly Vernon
ALL I’M DOING RIGHT NOW IS DISCUSSING Harvey Weinstein. The ramifications, the nuances, the ‘ yeah, buts…’,
with mates, with exes, with Twitter. A friend takes the ‘ Why didn’t Gwyneth speak out earlier?’ route, which first makes me cross, because voicing these experiences is a choice, not an obligation, because Rose Mcgowan and Courtney Love did speak out ‘earlier’, and no one cared… Then makes me wonder if I should have said something about That Guy From Before. The one I knew was pulling Weinstein-y shit. Am I Gwyneth, in that instance? Also: how nervous is That Guy right now? Does he even realise there’s a correlation between his wandering hands and Weinstein’s actions? How many men are currently reflecting on habitual behaviours, asking themselves if they’re legit?
My mate D is doing a little Weinstein-related self-assessment. Oh, D! I’m fond of him, but glad he’s not my boyfriend. I describe him as ‘a bit of a one with the ladies’. ‘ Weinstein, eh?’ he says to me. Then D’s off, panic-describing, in technicolour, his most recent exercises in seduction and abandonment. ‘Am I Harvey?’ he asks.
‘I think you’re tricky as hell,’ I say. ‘I will continue advising all women I see in your company to run for the hills, but I don’t think you abuse your power. You haven’t got any. And? I don’t think you’re rapey.’ D almost cries with relief. Then a friend talks about the time she got sacked after ending an affair with her married boss. ‘ Why didn’t I sue for constructive dismissal? Why?’ Another Whatsapps me, guilty because when a senior colleague stroked her back in a lift, she didn’t care. ‘I just thought he was ridiculous,’ she says. ‘Other women would feel abused. I don’t! Am I not woke?’
‘ They all knew!’ swears a male friend. We’re sharing a cab to a do. ‘I can’t believe all those actresses would happily trot off to Weinstein’s hotel room when he summoned them, and not know!’
‘ That’s because you’ve never been a 19-year-old girl who can’t imagine a 35-year-old man might look at her and see her as a sexual opportunity, rather than a kid,’ I say. ‘Good point,’ he replies.
Later, at the do: Gay C pinches my bum. I squeal. He whispers: ‘Don’t embarrass me in the hotel!’ I laugh. In the context of our friendship (and his gayness), dropping a ref to those Weinstein tapes… feels OK.
I do not laugh at James Corden at the amfar Gala. That does not feel OK.
Ah, but this is going to run and run…