Years ago, I was fortunate enough to be invited to an evening at Jemima Goldsmith’s country home in the Cotswolds.
The setting was effortlessly stylish: crackling fires, enormous dogs sprawled across the sofa, beautiful interiors and wonderful company.
Goldsmith was the perfect society hostess — witty, relaxed and glamorous without appearing to try.
So when I later heard that she was dating Russell Brand, I was utterly perplexed.
Why would someone as polished as Goldsmith spend time with a man I regarded as a deeply unpleasant, low-rent provocateur? The pairing seemed impossible to understand. I believe I even said as much in one of my columns — and, unsurprisingly, I was never invited back.
More than a decade after that ill-fated relationship, Goldsmith has now spoken publicly about her experience with Brand, who was last week convicted of one count of rape and three counts of sexual assault before being sentenced on Monday to more than 10 years in prison.
More than a decade after her relationship with Russell Brand, Jemima Goldsmith has revealed disturbing details about their time together
Goldsmith has also sought to silence online speculation surrounding a harassment order that she and Brand jointly obtained in September 2014 against massage therapist Szilvia Berki. But she has offered no defence of her former partner. ‘I am going to describe some painful and personal things in relation to Russell Brand,’ she wrote on X on Monday.
‘I have had my own personal experience of his violence, coercive control and abuse. I had to call the police to have him removed from my house in 2014 during a violent incident.’
At the same time, footage of pop star Katy Perry has resurfaced online. In it, she lies backstage in her dressing room, crying just minutes before she is due to perform before thousands of fans.
Brand had ended their relationship by text. At the very moment Perry was enjoying the height of her success, he appeared to have chosen to knock her confidence from under her.
It was narcissism at its most calculated. Perry was devastated, although her view of Brand has since hardened. During a live performance at Oxfordshire’s Blenheim Festival in June this year, she told the crowd: ‘I hope my ex isn’t here. He ought to be in jail.’
Then there is Brand’s current wife, who appears devoted to him and, at least for now, unaware of the full reality of the man she married.
Laura was raised on Surrey’s Wentworth Estate and is the daughter of Scottish golfing great and former Ryder Cup player Bernard Gallacher. She met Brand at 19 and is widely described as a warm, likeable woman and a devoted mother to their three children. But the question remains: why? Why do attractive, accomplished and compassionate women become involved with men like Brand? These three women could seemingly have chosen anyone, yet each was drawn to a flamboyant figure with dishevelled hair and a troubling attitude towards women. What explains that attraction?
They were not alone. Friends working in television have told me that many other successful, talented women — far less famous but no less accomplished — were also captivated by Brand. Women who were formidable in their professional lives could become strangely passive when he entered a studio. His provocative, explicitly sexual conduct was repeatedly tolerated and, at times, rewarded with celebrity, wealth and a steady stream of work.
From Brand’s perspective, it may have appeared that the more offensive his behaviour became, the more attention he received from women.
Singer Katy Perry and Russell Brand in 2010. The comedian ended their 14-month marriage by text just before she was due to perform for thousands of fans
What is it about our fascination with certain men that makes us overlook obvious warning signs? Why do we dismiss danger signals and allow people who may pose a threat into our lives? Brand did little to disguise his persona. If anything, his apparent lack of restraint was central to his appeal.
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Perhaps the answer is that danger can be intoxicating — especially for someone whose own life is comparatively ordered, conventional or sheltered.
That same fascination helped make Victorian readers swoon over Heathcliff, the violent and vengeful hero of Wuthering Heights. It also powered the enduring appeal of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, a decaying and depraved corpse who somehow remains irresistible to innocent young women.
Cinema has repeatedly sold the same fantasy: Marlon Brando in The Wild One, Brad Pitt in Fight Club and Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean — a character whose flamboyant style and delivery Brand arguably echoed.
Much of the blues and rock ’n’ roll tradition rests on a similar idea, from Muddy Waters to Mick Jagger and beyond. The familiar message is simple: respectable men lose out while rebellious men get the girl.
The slogan ‘treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen’ found a modern expression in The Game, Neil Strauss’s 2005 book about the underground ‘seduction community’. It explored a secretive male subculture built around psychological techniques intended to attract women who might otherwise have ignored its practitioners.
Brand openly acknowledged Strauss’s influence. He credited the book with helping him succeed with women and develop his ‘shamanic seducer’ persona, once saying: ‘Strauss’s writing turned me from a desperate wallflower into a wallflower who can talk women into sex.’ The methods discussed included ‘negging’ — backhanded remarks designed to weaken a woman’s confidence — and ‘peacocking’, or adopting an eccentric, highly conspicuous appearance. Both became recognisable elements of Brand’s public behaviour.
That lifestyle was an early version of what is now called the misogynistic manosphere, populated by figures such as Andrew Tate and others who have also faced allegations of sexual assault. Strauss later rejected the movement, concluding that it was rooted in profound male insecurity and a distorted, damaging view of women.
Brand represents the alleged rapist-seducer who plays along until he has gained control, then changes the story before his target understands what has happened, writes Sarah Vine
Of course, not every provocative line or flirtatious performance leads to harm. But when someone ignores boundaries and believes there will be no consequences, the situation can become dangerous very quickly.
That was central to Brand’s case. His conviction turned on consent — and on the point at which an exciting bad-boy fantasy becomes a frightening and unwanted reality. It is the moment a boundary is crossed, control disappears and whatever attraction existed comes to an end.
Brand, like many alleged perpetrators, does not fit the crude stereotype of a stranger attacking someone in the night. He represents another form of danger, one that is particularly visible in the entertainment industry, where powerful and famous men have faced repeated allegations in recent years. Comedian David Walliams has also been accused of predatory behaviour, although he has not been charged with any offence.
The alleged rapist-seducer begins by creating a game, continuing until he has gained the advantage, then rewriting events before the other person has fully processed what happened. He hides in plain sight, encourages his target to distrust her own instincts and draws her closer even as something inside her is urging her to leave. Once she says no, it may already be too late. Afterwards, she may question her judgment and wonder how she allowed the situation to develop.
The aftermath can bring shame, self-disgust and a painful sense of personal failure. I believe that is what one alleged victim meant when she said: ‘I didn’t have respect for myself.’ That kind of self-blame can help perpetrators maintain silence around their actions.
Brand and his wife Laura Gallacher arrive at Southwark Crown Court last week, where he was convicted of rape and three sexual assaults
The same pattern appears when perpetrators shift responsibility onto their victims — as Brand allegedly did when he told a 21-year-old fan to ‘clean up her own mess’ after the incident.
One principle must remain clear: any non-consensual sexual act is an assault, and it is never the victim’s fault, regardless of whether she was inexperienced, trusting or intoxicated. This case reinforces that fundamental truth.
It should prompt men who behave like Brand to reconsider the consequences of their actions. It should also remind women to be wary of the supposed allure of the narcissist in tight trousers and guyliner.