Kathy Lette - the brand, rather than the woman - is a thing of earrings, fruit- salad hues and puns detested by the men they so frequently lampoon. The skirts she wears at 50 for television appearances are shorter than those she wore in her 20s. Her legs are spectacular.
And then there is the voice that Hampstead, marriage to human-rights lawyer Geoffrey Robertson and 10 best-selling novels available in 14 languages in 120 countries have done nothing to change. Brand Lette is all about the girl from the wrong side of town: fast, feisty, funny and, in this, archetypically Australian.
In person, Lette is diminutive, slender and feline, an elegant suggestion. Her mouth is wide, the red of oxygenated blood. 'I'm so sorry, how rude of me. Here I am,' she says, excusing her lateness. She sits with both hands in her lap, mischievous, feigning demureness and prepared for what she calls 'the psychological striptease'.
'I am a brand,' she says. 'Of course I am. If you're going to be in the media, you have to exaggerate certain aspects of your personality because you've to keep some stuff for yourself. That's just showbiz. I met Bette Midler when I was really young, and I was kind of amazed at how quiet and gentle she was, and then she was this dynamo on stage. And that's what you have to do. If you're in the public eye, you have to put your bulletproof bra on because a lot of people are going to attack you and you've got to give it back. ... It's a big, tough world out there, especially for women.'
The attacks mostly originate from her native country. One female literary editor routinely assigns 'terrible' people to review her books, and certain men revile her.
'Imagine waking up one morning ... to find you are married to the most tedious Australian 'personality' ever created,' one columnist wrote. 'Such is the grim reality for Geoffrey 'Hypothetical' Robertson.' For her part, Lette has remarked: 'Australian men disprove the theory of evolution. They're evolving into apes. I always say the Australian version of foreplay is shearing.' Mostly, though, she ignores them. 'You have to,' she sighs. 'It's like being annoyed by a gnat - you just have to remember to swat them occasionally. My readers [are] ... getting what they want, whereas these guys have no talent. What do they do? Nothing!'