Celebrations for the annual awards started at 4.30pm on Sunday, when I clambered into my sister Jackie’s limo with my husband Percy. Car‑pooling to the party — how environmentally-conscious! The day when four adults all clamber into a Toyota Prius will soon come, no doubt.
I first went to the Oscars in 1957, with Paul Newman and his wife Joanne Woodward, who had been nominated and went on to win for Three Faces Of Eve. She wore a green gown that she had made herself — can you imagine that happening now?
These days, in the two weeks before the awards in this town (everyone calls Hollywood ‘this town’ but no one knows why), the beauty salons, tanning parlours and Botox clinics fill their appointment books with a who’s who list to rival the red carpet — actresses, starlets, anxious wives and girlfriends of film executives desperate to look as good as it gets on the evening.
Facialists fly in from New York, and representatives of top couture designers flood in from Europe and the Middle East with their most dazzling gowns to tempt the female nominees.
Part of the thrill of Oscar week is also the swag. ‘Gifting suites’ pop up in the top hotels all over town, offering free holidays, beauty treatments and cheap jewellery. The experience is akin to a giant town-wide Easter egg hunt.
Jackie and I passed one of these and a huge bag was pressed upon us. When we got home we found it contained mostly hair products, face cream and body lotions — and we’ve got enough of those already.
It’s during the week before the Oscars ceremony that the serious parties begin. There are so many that it’s impossible to go to them all. You have to choose carefully so you don’t look like a rent-a-guest. Some hopeful nominees will be trying to grab the last-minute votes, but most just go to celebrate being selected.
Read the full article in the Daily Mail online by clicking here.
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