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 refined: blazing fires, enormous dogs sprawled across the sofas, beautiful interiors and a fascinating collection of guests.
Goldsmith was the quintessential society hostess — witty, relaxed, gracious and entirely at home in her surroundings.
So when I heard soon afterwards that she was seeing Russell Brand, I was utterly perplexed.
Why would someone as polished as Goldsmith spend time with a man who seemed so thoroughly incompatible with her world? It appeared impossible to understand. I believe I even made that observation in one of my columns. Unsurprisingly, I was never invited back.
More than a decade after that ill-fated relationship, Goldsmith has now revealed disturbing details about her time with the convicted sex offender, who was found guilty last week 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 disclosed disturbing details about their time together
Goldsmith has sought to dispel 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 devoted fans.
Brand had ended their relationship by text. At the very moment Perry was experiencing the height of her professional success, he appeared to deliberately pull her back down to earth.
It was narcissism at its most calculated. Perry was devastated, although she has since made her feelings clear. 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 deeply devoted to him and, for now at least, unwilling or unable to confront the 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 why? Why do intelligent, accomplished, talented and compassionate women become involved with men like Brand? All three women could seemingly have chosen anyone, yet they were drawn to a dishevelled, flamboyant man whose conduct was often openly offensive. What explains that attraction?
They were not the only ones. Friends who work in television have told me about numerous other women — less well-known but just as capable and successful — who became captivated by Brand’s questionable appeal. In their professional lives, these women were formidable. Yet when he entered a studio, they seemed to lose their usual judgment. His provocative, aggressively sexual persona was repeatedly tolerated, even rewarded, with fame, money and a steady stream of work.
Brand could easily have concluded that the more cruelly he behaved, the more appealing he became.
Singer Katy Perry and Russell Brand in 2010. The comedian ended their 14-month marriage by text, shortly before she was due to perform before thousands of fans
What is it about the human psyche that can make dangerous men seem attractive? Why do people overlook glaring warning signs and allow predators into their lives? Brand never concealed his character. If anything, his provocative behaviour was central to his public identity.
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Perhaps the answer lies in the seductive power of danger — particularly for someone whose own life is orderly, conventional or sheltered.
It is the force that made Victorian readers fascinated by Heathcliff, the vengeful antihero of Wuthering Heights. It also helped drive the enduring appeal of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, a decaying and depraved creature who nevertheless remains irresistibly alluring to innocent young women.
The same pattern appears on screen. Consider Marlon Brando in The Wild One, Brad Pitt in Fight Club or Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean — a character whose flamboyant clothes and theatrical delivery Brand arguably echoed.
Much of the blues and rock ’n’ roll tradition rests on a similar fantasy, from Muddy Waters to Mick Jagger and countless performers in between. The familiar message is simple: the nice man loses, while the rebellious one gets the girl.
The slogan ‘treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen’ was given a modern framework in Neil Strauss’s 2005 book The Game, published as Brand’s fame was taking off. The book examined the secretive ‘seduction community’, a male subculture built around psychological techniques intended to attract women who might otherwise have ignored its members.
Brand openly credited Strauss with transforming his romantic fortunes and helping him develop his ‘shamanic seducer’ persona. He once said: ‘Strauss’s writing turned me from a desperate wallflower into a wallflower who can talk women into sex’. The methods included ‘negging’ — ostensibly complimentary remarks intended to weaken a woman’s confidence — and ‘peacocking’, or adopting an eccentric, flamboyant appearance to attract attention. Both ideas echoed familiar elements of Brand’s behaviour.
That culture helped lay the groundwork for today’s deeply misogynistic manosphere, represented by figures including Andrew Tate, who, like others in that sphere, has also faced multiple sexual-assault allegations. Strauss later rejected the world he had helped expose, recognising that it was rooted in profound male insecurity and a distorted, deeply troubling view of women.
Brand represents the ‘rapist seducer’ who plays along until he has control, then changes the story before his target understands what is happening, writes Sarah Vine
Of course, a crude chat-up line does not automatically lead to abuse. The danger emerges when someone ignores boundaries and believes there will be no consequences.
That was the issue at the centre of Brand’s conviction: the meaning of consent, and the point at which a fantasy of the rebellious bad boy becomes a frightening and unwanted reality. It is the moment a boundary is crossed, control is taken away and whatever pretence of enjoyment existed comes to an end.
Brand, like many alleged and convicted sexual offenders, does not fit the stereotype of a stranger attacking someone in the dark. His case reflects another form of danger — one that is widespread, particularly in the high-pressure entertainment industry, as other cases involving prominent figures have shown. Comedian David Walliams has also been accused of predatory behaviour, though it is important to note that he has not been charged.
This is the danger of the ‘seducer’ who treats relationships as a game until he has secured the power he wants, then rewrites events before the other person understands what has happened. He operates in plain sight, leaving victims to doubt their instincts even as every warning signal tells them to leave. By the time a clear ‘no’ is expressed, the situation may already have escalated. Afterwards, victims can be left questioning their judgment and blaming themselves.
The damage is compounded by shame, self-disgust and the feeling that one has somehow failed. That may be what one victim meant when she said: ‘I didn’t have respect for myself.’ Men who abuse often exploit precisely that self-blame because it helps keep victims silent.
Brand and his wife Laura Gallacher arrive at Southwark Crown Court last week, where he was convicted of one count of rape and three counts of sexual assault
They also 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 encounter.
The essential point must not be lost: any sexual act without consent is an assault, and it is never the victim’s fault — regardless of how inexperienced, trusting or intoxicated that person may have been. This case reinforces that fundamental truth.
Perhaps it will make men like Brand think twice. It should also remind women to be wary of mistaking a narcissist’s swagger, theatrical charm and rebellious image for something worth risking their safety to pursue.
