When I read Woman Five’s testimony during the trial of Russell Brand, my teeth began to chatter violently.
The reaction came without warning. As the words in the witness statements stirred long-buried memories of my own degrading encounters with the comedian, my body began to shake uncontrollably.
Reading this brave woman’s account – including Brand’s demand that she shower and brush her teeth before the appalling encounter – I realised I was trembling and crying.
After 21 years, my body was finally releasing something my mind had never fully allowed me to accept: that Russell Brand was a cruel and ruthless predator, and that I was far from the only woman he had degraded.
I was 25 when I was sent to interview Russell Brand. He was an emerging comedian who had recently begun presenting a Big Brother spin-off show. Despite what his lawyer, Ian Winter KC, said in court, I knew nothing about his reputation beyond the fact that he had been clean and sober from heroin addiction for several years.
We met at a café in Primrose Hill. I remember being completely taken aback when this funny, lively, Fagin-like figure almost immediately began propositioning me, telling me how beautiful I was and asking whether he could kiss me.
Russel Brand, pictured in 2012, was jailed for more than ten years this week after being convicted of rape and sexual assault
Bryony Gordon was sent to interview Brand when she was 25. He told her she was beautiful and asked whether he could kiss her
I remember giggling constantly. Afterwards, he insisted on walking me to the Tube station. All the way there, he continued asking if he could kiss me, while I kept telling him he could not. When I returned to the office, my phone began ringing almost immediately. He had obtained my number from his PR representative. The calls and messages followed – 20 or 30 a day.
Those are obvious red flags now. But this was the Noughties, when comedians on panel shows were still making rape jokes.
I was bulimic, depressed, consumed by OCD and, as I now understand it, in the grip of alcoholism. Whatever self-esteem I possessed came largely from male validation. In that post-Bridget Jones era, I looked to men for something resembling safety and security. I am not proud of this admission; it makes me deeply sad. But that was how things were for me in 2005.
What I am trying to explain is that, although I can now recognise Brand’s behaviour as narcissistic love-bombing, at the time I was completely dazzled by it. I remember him singing James Blunt’s You’re Beautiful to me over the phone. I had never experienced anything like it. I was hooked. Eventually, I agreed to go on a date with him. We had Sunday lunch and then went to the cinema.
He invited me back to his home for drinks. I remember thinking it was funny that, despite not drinking himself, he had filled his fridge with alcohol for me. Another red flag, of course – but at the time… At the time, at the time, at the time. How much weight those three words can carry.
Again and again, he asked whether I found him attractive, as though I alone could provide the reassurance he needed.
Brand outside Southwark Crown Court in London with his wife Laura, who stood by his side throughout his trial
Brand is now being investigated over new abuse allegations after ‘multiple reports’ were made following his conviction
Just before we kissed, he told me to gargle with mouthwash. It made me feel as though something was wrong with me, as though I was somehow grotesque. I am ashamed to admit that this made me try even harder to please him and comply with what he wanted.
Woman Five’s testimony has shown me that he often behaved this way. At the time, however, I believed it was something he did only to me.
I am not going to describe the rest of that night with Brand. What I will say is that, when I left the following day, I blamed myself for all the unease I felt about what had happened.
I believed I was the problem, not him. I was too prudish, not adventurous or dazzling enough for a man as charismatic and charming as Brand. I lacked the confidence and self-esteem to be the woman he apparently wanted, and on some fundamental level I felt I had failed. I felt ashamed.
As I did with so many other experiences that filled me with shame, I turned what happened into a joke.
Like Brand, I became skilled at making fun of it. It was all just a laugh, wasn’t it? We were in the middle of the Noughties, when wider culture – from music videos to comedy programmes – routinely dismissed women’s experiences. How could I have been expected to offer myself any more understanding?
I briefly referred to my encounter with Brand in a 2013 book about my chaotic, out-of-control twenties. Even now, when I read it back, I can see the shame running through the page. I tried to turn the seedy experiences I had endured into amusing anecdotes that would make people laugh rather than leave them uncomfortable.
(Sample: ‘Bryony, tell everyone the Russell Brand story,’ said a friend, with a wink and a nudge. Oh no. Not the Russell Brand story. Anything but the Russell Brand story. I grimace. Shake my head… there were… hundreds of other girls with a Russell Brand story.)
Apart from that, I did a good job of placing my experience with Brand in a box, locking it and burying it somewhere deep in my mind. I remember being surprised that he was not called out during the MeToo movement in 2017. Instead, I pushed the box even further away, convincing myself that I was probably imagining things and almost certainly overreacting.
When allegations against Brand emerged in 2023, I briefly opened the box. Even then, it felt too frightening and risky to examine. We had mutual friends, and my life was entirely different from the one I had led in 2005. I was sober, married and a mother. I had far more important things to do than spend time dwelling on Russell Brand.
I even allowed myself to wonder whether he had changed. In 2024, when it became clear that the Crown Prosecution Service was preparing a case against him, I felt brave enough to write in this column about the warning signs I had experienced in 2005. I felt physically sick with anxiety when it was published, just as I feel sick with grief and anger now.
Only in recent weeks, and because of the extraordinary courage of the women who came forward, have I been able to confront the box containing my memories of Russell Brand. I now understand that it is an all-too-familiar box, carried by many women, and that perhaps we no longer need to carry it alone or feel ashamed of what is inside.
Russell Brand was able to offend amid the blurred boundaries and cultural murkiness of the Noughties. I will always be grateful to the six women who came forward and finally brought that reality into sharp, painful focus.
I do not know whether they will ever read this, but I wish them every happiness for the rest of their lives. I want to say thank you.