• Join Holly as she searches east Auckland for love and connection.

In which Holly goes to the movies.

I don’t like Nicole Kidman. Couldn’t really tell you why, Reader – there’s just something about her that annoys me.

I’m not the only one. A friend feels the same, and her husband admits a similar distaste for Sarah Jessica Parker. Another finds Will Smith odious, for no particular reason.

Naturally, Nicole herself doesn’t (and shouldn’t) care about my opinion, but try as I might to be fair to her, she just gives me the icks.

On an ick scale of one to 10 (one being people who forget to say “thank you” and 10 being presidential allies who throw Nazi salutes) for me, Nicole Kidman is a solid four.

This being the case, I was in two minds about my recent date’s movie choice – Babygirl starring Kidman and directed by Halina Reijn.

I was curious, however, to see how the subject matter would be handled.

BDSM tends to get mixed treatment in cinema. The ubiquitous Fifty Shades trilogy is the example that many people would think of first.

It’s a terrible one, because the relationship portrayed is abuse, dressed up as romance and kink.

Let’s face it – Christian Grey is a creep and a stalker who only gets away with it because he’s rich and hot.

Other films, such as Secretary (2002) or Sanctuary (2022) handle the subject in better and more original ways. I hoped Babygirl might join these ranks.

We settled into our seats at the Monterey. The cinema wasn’t crowded, a dozen people in front of us and another couple right at the back.

A trio of female friends sat almost directly behind us. Since we had plenty of time before the movie started, my date ducked out to the concession stand to grab a beer.

Reader, have you ever tried not to eavesdrop on people and failed?

I couldn’t (and wouldn’t) tell you who these women were, since they were behind me. I will, however, recount their conversation, since I was the topic.

“Do you think this will be dirtier than a Holly column?” asked one.

“I hope so!” laughed another.

The third friend chimed in. She reckoned that the writer of Sex And The Suburbs wasn’t even a woman, but a man.

She’d bet that Holly, Harry or whoever they were was “just some journalist”, probably not even an east Auckland local.

“No, she is!” interrupted one of the others. Apparently, someone she knew had figured out who Holly is – a younger Chinese Kiwi woman they’d met through their netball club, who loved writing.

“I don’t think so,” one of the other voices said.

Holly must be, she claimed, a suburban cougar, probably someone they’ve seen a dozen times at Piggy and never even noticed, or someone they’ve driven past in the early hours of the morning, emerging from a party at a certain central Howick address.

Here, my date returned, and I was able to make conversation with him to cover theirs.

After all, as the saying goes – what other people think about you is none of your business. Hopefully, believing this is something Nicole Kidman and I share.

For the record, though… I’m familiar with that house (kudos to the neighbours for their patience), but I’m not a regular there.

Yes, ladies, you might have seen me at Piggy once or twice. I may or may not be Asian, but I’m definitely proud of my age and wouldn’t wish to be younger.

If anything, I’d choose to be older, to fast-forward the challenges of menopause.

You flatter me by calling me a journalist. While I do write, I’ve known great journalists (both professionally and biblically) and I’m certainly not one.

We need only look at the climb of the Times, from last year’s rescue and reinvigoration to its recent record-breaking readership, to see how important journalism can be to a community. Just look at that overdone alliteration! I’m no skilled newshound, that’s for sure.

In reality, I remain pseudonymous to protect my personal safety from the Christian Greys of the world.

Some of you might suspect you know me. Even if you think you’re sure, I ask that you keep my identity under wraps.

While the treatment of sex-positivity by the movie industry is hit-and-miss, the sex-positive among us still need to be careful, sometimes, in real life.

Often, we’ve learned the hard way that danger hides behind a veneer of decency.

Even in this community that I love so much, there are those who would take openness as an invitation.

And the movie? The cinematography is gorgeous. Nicole drinks some milk. I won’t spoil it for you. The best secrets remain untold.

Email holly@times.co.nz

Yours in love,

Holly