InStyle Magazine Women of Style Hall of Fame

    A winner: Nicole Kidman. Photo: Getty Images

    Nicole Kidman beamed into Redfern’s Carriageworks last Tuesday night via  video link direct from the French Riviera to graciously accept her latest  award.

    Kidman was inducted into the InStyle Magazine Women of Style Hall of  Fame.

    As PS previously pointed out, this was not in recognition of her tireless  services to the cocktail frock, but rather an acknowledgement of her various  charitable pursuits and a 30-year career that has earned her Golden Globes,  Logies, AFIs, Oscars, BAFTAs and even a United Nations humanitarian award.

    No fair-minded person would begrudge Kidman receiving such an accolade  considering her achievements, but as PS milled with the glitteratti in the  cavernous venue on Tuesday, I couldn’t help but wonder what this latest trophy  really meant to Kidman.

    She appeared well-chuffed with the gong, but it was hardly an Oscar or the  Nobel Peace Prize.

    While it is great that a magazine such as InStyle spends a serious  amount of dough in Sydney each year putting on a party to congratulate women who  have made undeniable achievements, does any of it really mean anything when the  Sydney social calendar is crammed with similar awards nights, many of them  rewarding far less worthy pursuits?

    It was only a couple of months ago the same crew of coiffed glamazons  descended on The Star for the Prix de Marie Claire Awards.

    It was pretty much the same faces shining brightly as editor-in-chief Jackie  Frank took to the lectern to bestow the magazine’s blessings on various  who-could-care-less categories such as Best Haircare Product of 2013.

    The crowd broke into rapturous applause as the hard-working brand manager for  Tresemme’s Split End Sealing Serum clambered onto the podium to take the shiny  gong.

    PS was a lone voice at the table when querying why on earth people were  applauding a hair conditioner? And just a few minutes later, without even a  hint of irony, Miranda Kerr’s Rosehip Body Oil was awarded the accolade in the  Best Body Product category.

    The supermodel, wife of one of the most coveted men in Hollywood and mother  of a gorgeous baby boy, declared the award as one of her greatest achievements  … ever.

    I mean, purhleeeasse!

    A few years ago I was on the guest list of something called the Jasmine  Awards.

    However, after attending one of these sideshows, I vowed never to return  again.

    To the uninitiated, the Jasmine Awards recognise excellence in, ahem,  fragrance journalism.

    Admittedly, I am a gossip columnist and while I do not report on war zones or  digest government policy documents, I can assure you this gig can leave you just  as battered and bruised.

    But seriously, I mean really, fragrance journalism?

    Last month, over breakfast at the Botanic Gardens Restaurant in Sydney, a  gathering of the ‘‘country’s top cosmetic, beauty, fragrance journalists and  editors’’, along with the awards’ sponsors (conveniently representing the   brands being ‘‘reported’’ on) turned up to see who was going home a winner.

    According to the organisers a ‘‘record-breaking’’ 30journalists submitted  entries across six categories, including what they billed as ‘‘the coveted  Jasmine Award for Journalistic Excellence’’, which PS prefers to call the Golden  Spritz Award.

    Among this year’s winners was Cleo Glyde for ‘‘Best In-depth Feature on  Fragrance’’, billed as an ‘‘engaging feature’’ about Lady Gaga’s new  perfume.

    See you at the Walkleys, Cleo.

    Even the better known awards, like the Bachelor of the Year, have  questionable credentials.

    Beside the fact some of the judges this year were old enough to be the  bachelors’ mother, and several of the contestants were, shall we say, ‘‘confirmed’’ bachelors, if the competition was reversed with a bunch of old men  judging sexy single ladies, there would be a public outcry.

    To be fair, these are just a few of many meaningless awards handed out across  our fair city each week.

    But it pains me to say it, the band Hot Chocolate got it wrong, everyone is  NOT a winner, and baby that’s the truth.

    Andrew Hornery

    Andrew  Hornery

    Private Sydney Columnist

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