Famous For Five Times A Night: Fiona Wright And The Secrets Of Her Diary

Fiona Wright, tabloid sensationalism, naked opportunism and the birth of the kiss ‘n’ tell boom of the Eighties and Nineties.

These days, it’s surprisingly easy for people with no talent for anything other than self-promotion – which is, I suppose, a talent of sorts – to become famous. Endless reality TV shows, talent shows and the rise of the ‘influencer’ (who may or may not have any actual influence) has arguably democratised the idea of celebrity – that or simply rendered the whole idea as ludicrous and meaningless as it arguably always should have been. Look at reports of ‘glittering movie premieres and star-studded events and see how many of those attending are people famous for being famous – some of whom will maintain this dubious fame for years, others who have to make the most of it when they can and many of whom will go on to occupy a weird middle-ground of low-rent TV commercials, nightclub appearances and a strange quasi-fame where people vaguely remember you but can’t quite work out what for.

The precursor to today’s empty celebrity seems to be the kiss ‘n’ teller – usually (but not always) female, often a ‘model’ (like ‘influencer’, ‘model’ seemed a self-applied description that required little evidence of having done any actual modelling work) or a ‘call-girl’, as the tabloids were wont to call them. They all had one thing in common – a sexual liaison of varying levels of seriousness with a celebrity, a politician or some other sort of VIP, usually one who was older and married. Sometimes, their relationship would be uncovered by parasitical hacks, catching respectable establishment figures slipping into massage parlours – not the ones where you go for an actual massage, needless to say – or sex party, and the hapless young woman, finding herself thrust into the spotlight of hypocritical tabloid outrage, would make the best of a bad situation by selling her story – if the Fleet Street rags were going to expose you anyway, why not get paid and have at least some control over what was said?

It very quickly became clear to the more savvy golddigger that there was money and fame to be had from these secret and illicit relationships becoming public, and soon enough, the models and the call girls began to cut out the middle-man and contact the tabloids directly – this proved to be an especially satisfactory way of dealing with a ‘relationship’ that had ended, but often they would force the issue by spilling the beans about an ongoing affair to The Sun, The Daily Mirror or more often than not The News of the World, which thrived on scandal and tut-tutting self-righteousness served with a heavy dose of titillation. Sometimes, the tabloids would get wind of an affair and contact the women directly, blackmailing them into telling their story or else face having their relationship splashed across the front pages in a way that would put them in a bad light. Most, understandably, complied. It’s something that went back decades – the whole Profumo-Keeler affair is a prime example – but in the 1980s and 1990s it became rampant, and some women built a reputation for multiple kiss-and-tell stories. These women seemed to have no end of stories to sell, even though you might think that any man might be wary of entering into a relationship, however brief, with someone who had already sold their story to the tabloids. There’s no fool like an old fool, I guess.

 

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