I was gazing at the latest issue of Metro, wondering why I had bought it last week. I have mostly fond memories of working there two decades ago but nowadays live quietly in the country and am in no way part of the magazine’s target demographic, having little interest in Ponsonby Road and none in fashion. Why on earth did I fork out $9.90? Was it the cover photo starring Shavaughn Ruakere’s bosom and Colin Madhur-Jaffrey’s cheekbones? Hardly. Was it the strap-on guide to Auckland restaurants? No. Was it the promised story about “Women’s sex tourism”? Thrice no.
Then I turned to the books pages and saw that Paul Litterick has contributed a review. Yes! That’s why I bought it. Also recommended: Susanna Andrew on Stephanie Johnson’s new novel The Open World, and three pages on Emily Perkins and The Forrests. Excellent. I have my $9.90’s worth.
A friend in the sunset industry that is the print media tells me that media gossip has it that the photo-shoot for the cover of this issue was a bit fraught. Close inspection reveals… well, see for yourselves at the supermarket but it seems quite possible, if only on the evidence of the level of detail of her earrings and his collar, that Ms Ruakere and Mr Madhur-Jaffrey were photographed separately. The photo credits list the shoes both are wearing (him: Zambesi; her: Andrea Biani) though no shoes are visible in the photo. Credit where it’s due, I suppose.
My friend, who like so many of us is baffled as to what Mr Madhur-Jaffrey does (“What is he good at, exactly?” she asks), reports that last Thursday a certain women’s magazine she works at had some cupcakes delivered and on top of each one was the image of his face or, as she put it, “Colin on icing”. It was a promotion for the TV show NZ’s Hottest Home Baker for which the judges are professional baker Dean Brettschneider, pudding professional Julia Crownshaw and. . . model/actor/whatever Mr Madhur-Jaffrey. You know it makes sense.