Hardy had the twin misfortune early in her career of running a hip blog (which got bags of hits mostly just because she called public figures 'c*nts' before it went mainstream), and being half-nuddy in bed with Derryn Hinch for a GW cover, or something. That she somehow got to run the already-shittily boring and hilariously self-important MWF is both incredibly unsurprising and a magnificiently apt fate for both. A most suitable marriage, as when they fly in some fading Yank daysoap C-Lister to provide 'star pulling power' at the Logies.
Back in the blog boom days Hardy was a very exciting and interesting writer, and a bit of an original thinker. Or threatened to be. Then, alas, she got a tiny-teeny-weeny bit famous - 'Melbourne Famous', so it kind of doesn't count, though as a celeb scale-rating MF is a solid step up from 'Class Parent/Fete Queen at Suzanne Corey High Famous’- and so of course her pen and her brain naturally got slowly but surely all fucked up. Well it would, wouldn't it, what with the culturally deadening circles a briefly-talented Miss in a big city might have the misfortune to Missfit her career into. These hideous fucking quality black holes, these 'writers festivals', these 'cultural events', these awful bloody exercises in State-sponsored, wanker-curated right-thinkery and creative dreck...one ought run like fucking hell from them all. Especially now, what with Interwebz and stuff.
Yes, remember her blog - she was an early adopter and it was very brave at the time. I read it and absolutely adored Ms Hardy. Honestly, she had a natural talent. She was a great writer, but I think she was maybe elevated to a role beyond her capacity and she became a bit of a celeb. Few of us would be strong enough to resist the pull of mediocre celeb vs mediocre sales. It's Australia! I'm about her age and she was bang on what we wanted to be. I became a smug married with kids and she remained a skinny vegan with dogs. We all kind of grew up around her while she got stuck in the character version of herself. I don't want to say I feel sorry for her, but there is something slightly tragic about her. The dogs. Yeah, I don't get that in a grown woman who has read a lot of great fucking literature. Jesus.
Yes, Triple J is like the day care centre appended to the cultural sheltered workshop, where worthy-drone parents drop their worthy-cute kiddies before clocking on for a worthy shift of pointless but self-actualising cultural toil. Quilting rainbow platitudes, crafting lefty cliches out of glitter breath, making unicorn smiles out of hope and chocolate crackle syrup, that kind of jam. Or maybe the better metaphor is the Sunday School annex off St Gough’s Cathedral, where the darling little posh sprogs of the knowledge/meeja booj learn the secular fables in cartoon form…
Anyway, it takes a massive Talent to survive that kind of sproghood. Hardy’s wasn’t quite big enough. Pity. She was really funny sometimes
If David Littleproud is culled (David Even Lessproud) here's hoping Brigit McKenzie becomes the new Nationals' leader. As Rundle's material is now enriched with Tim Wilson in Goldstein so, too, will he (& therefore we) benefit from McKenzie at the fore.
Hardy had the twin misfortune early in her career of running a hip blog (which got bags of hits mostly just because she called public figures 'c*nts' before it went mainstream), and being half-nuddy in bed with Derryn Hinch for a GW cover, or something. That she somehow got to run the already-shittily boring and hilariously self-important MWF is both incredibly unsurprising and a magnificiently apt fate for both. A most suitable marriage, as when they fly in some fading Yank daysoap C-Lister to provide 'star pulling power' at the Logies.
Back in the blog boom days Hardy was a very exciting and interesting writer, and a bit of an original thinker. Or threatened to be. Then, alas, she got a tiny-teeny-weeny bit famous - 'Melbourne Famous', so it kind of doesn't count, though as a celeb scale-rating MF is a solid step up from 'Class Parent/Fete Queen at Suzanne Corey High Famous’- and so of course her pen and her brain naturally got slowly but surely all fucked up. Well it would, wouldn't it, what with the culturally deadening circles a briefly-talented Miss in a big city might have the misfortune to Missfit her career into. These hideous fucking quality black holes, these 'writers festivals', these 'cultural events', these awful bloody exercises in State-sponsored, wanker-curated right-thinkery and creative dreck...one ought run like fucking hell from them all. Especially now, what with Interwebz and stuff.
Yes, remember her blog - she was an early adopter and it was very brave at the time. I read it and absolutely adored Ms Hardy. Honestly, she had a natural talent. She was a great writer, but I think she was maybe elevated to a role beyond her capacity and she became a bit of a celeb. Few of us would be strong enough to resist the pull of mediocre celeb vs mediocre sales. It's Australia! I'm about her age and she was bang on what we wanted to be. I became a smug married with kids and she remained a skinny vegan with dogs. We all kind of grew up around her while she got stuck in the character version of herself. I don't want to say I feel sorry for her, but there is something slightly tragic about her. The dogs. Yeah, I don't get that in a grown woman who has read a lot of great fucking literature. Jesus.
The worst thing that can happen to a young writer is a bit of success.
Don't forget the stints at Triple J and that ABC book show. They'd take their toll.
Work at the ABC or SBS to learn how to diversity-wash yourself into a monoculture of thought.
Yes, Triple J is like the day care centre appended to the cultural sheltered workshop, where worthy-drone parents drop their worthy-cute kiddies before clocking on for a worthy shift of pointless but self-actualising cultural toil. Quilting rainbow platitudes, crafting lefty cliches out of glitter breath, making unicorn smiles out of hope and chocolate crackle syrup, that kind of jam. Or maybe the better metaphor is the Sunday School annex off St Gough’s Cathedral, where the darling little posh sprogs of the knowledge/meeja booj learn the secular fables in cartoon form…
Anyway, it takes a massive Talent to survive that kind of sproghood. Hardy’s wasn’t quite big enough. Pity. She was really funny sometimes
If David Littleproud is culled (David Even Lessproud) here's hoping Brigit McKenzie becomes the new Nationals' leader. As Rundle's material is now enriched with Tim Wilson in Goldstein so, too, will he (& therefore we) benefit from McKenzie at the fore.
Appreciated the Gen Z references.