BossBabes promo1.png.2019-07-30T16_24_41+12_00

Pop CultureAugust 6, 2019

Review: BossBabes is the least relatable thing I’ve ever seen

BossBabes promo1.png.2019-07-30T16_24_41+12_00

Alex Casey watches BossBabes, TVNZ OnDemand’s new reality series following Instagram entrepreneurs Iyia Liu and Edna Stewart. 

Breaking news: eyeliner is over. Ever since eyelash extensions came onto the scene, Iyia Liu declares from her king size bed, eyeliner is just “not a thing” any more. It’s the first key learning of many from BossBabes, TVNZ OnDemand’s new reality series following Auckland influencers and e-commerce businesswomen Iyia Liu and Edna Stewart. Tell you what doesn’t seem to be over though – cupcakes. Iyia Liu can’t seem to get away from the bastards. 

As someone who watched every moment of Iyia Liu’s gender reveal party on Instagram from my couch, and who once spent a whole day in a dark room at a business event with the woman herself, this show was made for me. Call it masochism, but I love pressing my greasy nose against the glass and watching rich people being rich. Remember The Ridges? The GC? The Real Housewives of Auckland? BossBabes is their younger, savvier, selfie-taking sister. 

Iyia Liu and Edna Swart

At 25, Iyia Liu has made several big waves over her relatively short career. She famously paid Kylie Jenner $300,000 to wear one of her first products, a suffocating Edwardian corset waist trainer and quickly became an e-commerce millionaire. But it was in 2018 that she became infamous, her insta-bait dessert box company Celebration Box accused of false advertising, missing orders and blocking people who complained on social media

In July, the Commerce Commission found that Celebration Box may have breached the Fair Trading Act in several instances, but no further legal action was to be taken against them. Later, at her mansion party, she refers to whole fiasco as “a little hate”. On with the show, then!

Iyia Liu at Celebration Box HQ

Her lesser-known costar Edna Swart, 29, is the founder of Ed&I swimwear and body range. In episode two, we get a welcome look into her fascinating backstory. Edna was born in South Africa and adopted at birth, moving to New Zealand at the age of five. Sitting on her car bonnet at sunrise in Takapuna, she Facetimes her biological mother back home, where the sun has just set. It’s a still, poignant moment in a haze of shopping trips and photoshoots. 

Because it shouldn’t really be a surprise that BossBabes is extremely pacy, with fleeting scenes of glamour and excess perfectly mimicking the relentless Instagram scroll through glossy lives you will never live. In episode one, Iyia is throwing a party in her brand new house, which looks a hell of a lot like the sprawling Gatsby-esque mansion they filmed House of Drag in. I once had toxic mould mushrooms growing through my ceiling, which is basically the same thing. 

Let’s take it to the Max

Having a lavish party is a way to “get people talking about you and tagging you in” says Iyia, who has shelled out for balloon garlands, samba dancers and light displays, all because they will “look cool in the stories”. The brazen way these women talk about Instagram is, frankly, breathtaking. However detached you may pretend to be, everyone on social media is constantly making choices to brand themselves a certain way – at least this lot are upfront about it. 

The day after the party, they review their Instagram reach over espresso martinis at the Viaduct. “This one got really good engagement,” Iyia notes. 

A surprising element to BossBabes is that both women turn out to be stone cold weirdos, which makes the show a hell of lot more interesting to watch. While setting up an absurdly large white chocolate cake for the party, Iyia and Edna are forced to consider the location of the sun in relation to the rapidly-melting icing. “Never eat soggy Weetbix” muses Edna, staring at the horizon with a furrowed brow. “It’s not going to move,” says Iyia, “the sun stays in the sky.”

I gotta tell you, I really wasn’t expecting Boss Babes to be funny. Complete with golf carts, bottles of Veuve and guests arriving by chopper, the cost of Iyia’s house party comes to a cool $20,000. It’s worth it, they conclude, if it means that they can find her a boyfriend. “The ROI [return on investment] is massive,” Edna tells the camera, deadpan. “You can’t put a price on that.” I chuckle to stop the tears, throwing my latest credit card bill straight in the bin.

Scenes from a summer soirée

The investment in the party pays dividends. Iyia’s invited Max Key without telling ex-girlfriend Amelia Finlayson, who feigns anger at the news. “I actually hate you,” she smiles, flicking her hair. Elsewhere, Max skulks in the corner behind some Heartbreak Island boys. Seeing our shonky Marvel universe of yung Spy celebs is a real treat and, in many ways, Iyia’s party is our Endgame. Because Max has pulled Amelia for a chat, and he’s giving her ‘the eyes’. 

While Boss Babes provides classic reality TV low stakes melodrama, there’s also some – ahem – meatier issues tackled. Frank discussion around cosmetic enhancements are injected throughout the show. Edna tells the camera she started Botox at 25 and has spent around $20k on her face and body since. In episode two, Iyia is preparing for her Brazilian Butt Lift, a gruesome procedure that will have her walking out of surgery with notably larger buttocks. 

Butt wait, there’s more

“I love slapping butts,” notes Iyia, “I slap three to five butts per week on average… It’s not so much about having a massive butt, its more hip to waist ratio.” The pair’s philosophy is that loads of people are getting this work done, but nobody is talking about it. That might be true, but I still couldn’t help but see the chain of influence before my own, crinkled, terrible eyes. If Iyia’s goal is to look like Kylie Jenner, then how many young New Zealand women now want to look like Iyia Liu? 

Watching BossBabes, I thought of the teenage girls I interviewed who told me about the ideal body shape – big bum, big boobs, a tiny waist. At 16, they are already considering their cosmetic enhancement options thanks entirely to influencer culture. I’d really love to see the Boss Babes interrogate their own place in that culture, because the most raw reflection the show has provided so far is me, standing in front of the mirror after two episodes, staring woefully at my own flat arse. 

BossBabes is streaming now on TVNZ OnDemand.

Keep going!
Looks uncomfortable tbh. Photo: Getty
Looks uncomfortable tbh. Photo: Getty

Pop CultureAugust 6, 2019

The two big resignations which have everyone in NZ television talking

Looks uncomfortable tbh. Photo: Getty
Looks uncomfortable tbh. Photo: Getty

Commissioners are among the most powerful and coveted roles in television. Suddenly, after years  of little movement, there are five vacancies.

Two stories hit players in the local television industry hard and in quick succession. The first came early in July when TVNZ announced the departure of its longtime head of scripted, Kathleen Anderson. Then, two weeks later, an even bigger bombshell: the resignation of Three’s longtime chief content officer Andrew Szusterman. 

Both were huge for their organisations. Anderson was across the core of TVNZ’s local identity – its premium, high-budget scripted drama, and Shortland St, its iconic soap and the single most important property for TVNZ 2. Szusterman had driven the successful move toward emphasising multi-night reality TV, along with a lineup of local comedy, as the core of Three’s public face.

All of a sudden, after years spent exerting outsize influence over what New Zealand saw of itself on the small screen, each was gone. And with their departures came great risks and opportunities.

There are few jobs in New Zealand television more coveted and influential than that of commissioner. They decide which shows get made – and which don’t. From the outside, their jobs appear exciting, the mythic encapsulation of everything which makes the industry one of the world’s most glamourous. Most jobs in television aren’t like that: you’re scheduling advertising or cutting promos. But commissioners are everything TV sells itself to the public as embodying – they wield enormous power, and really do dictate what we see.

Yet that if anything undersells their importance to the local screen production industry. Their taste, their instincts, their trusted relationships – commissioners define whether companies are flush or floundering, careers advance or atrophy. 

A couple of years ago I spoke to a number of writers and showrunners about the state of commissioning, and the response of one has stayed with me, evoking just how large commissioners loomed in their lives. He described the feeling of taking two “exciting, innovative” ideas to a network exec, and pitching to them in person.

Within five minutes or less, you’d know those ideas were dead in the water. Because you had a business to run, family to feed and a mortgage to pay, you’d have to take advantage of that audience with the Pope. So you’d ask “So what did you have in mind?”

The commissioner would describe, say, a size nine brown shoe. And because you had a business to run, you’d say, of course, “what a coincidence! Guess what we’ve got in development – a size 9 brown shoe!”

Part of the issue has been that, like Popes, commissioners tend to stay in their roles for long periods of time. This is a problem endemic in the New Zealand media, with many of the most important gate-keeping roles occupied for years, even decades, leading to despair and often ultimately resignation by those waiting for their shot. Both for those waiting to take on those jobs, or whose job it is to get those commissioners to greenlight their projects.

All this is to signal just how extraordinary this moment is – right now we have a once-in-a-generation set of roles opening at our two biggest free-to-air broadcasters. These jobs, which will have an outsize impact on how New Zealand sees itself on screen, all vacant at the same time. For those who’ve been biding their time, wanting more commissioning control, it’s a major opportunity to step up and show how you might do things differently. For those who’ve been pitching to this same small pool for years, it’s loaded with excitement and fear. Those who’ve struggled to get commissioned will be hoping things are changing. Those who’ve banked on long, tight relationships with networks and execs will be praying things don’t.

Kathleen Anderson and Andrew Szusterman. Photos: Twitter/Supplied

On July 18, an email went out from Spada, the association representing screen producers in New Zealand, advertising four roles at TVNZ. They were commissioners for Māori and Pasifika, Tamariki and Heihei (its children’s platform), Shortland St and drama and scripted comedy. Four roles, three of them brand new (Māori and Pasifika already existed). Meanwhile Three has an opening for the “major architect” of its content strategy, and have confirmed to The Spinoff that this will be an exception to its signal of not replacing non-essential roles.

Szusterman is a huge loss – Three led in 25-54 for months earlier in the year, a network first, driven by the success of the tentpole multi-night reality franchises. With the highly touted Nevak Rogers moving up to TVNZ’s GM local content in June, there will be new faces in a minimum of six key positions when Szusterman finishes up in October. 

These openings are not the only major changes in the commissioning landscape. The most recent NZ on Air factual funding round saw 12 different platforms receive funding, including five projects for Stuff and three for the Herald, while RNZ is another significant new commissioner. As recently as 2016, it wasn’t out of the ordinary for a funding round to feature just three total platforms funded. Which is to say that in addition to the new roles opening up, there are far more commissioners than before.

Unfortunately, as The Spinoff recently reported, the total NZ on Air and RNZ budgets remain stuck underneath a 30-year real decline. Which means that the budgets doled out and scale of what can be funded is limited, absent any increase in government funding. There have been bright spots lately, notably the $1.7m devoted to Creamerie, a dystopian sci-fi comedy from the Flat 3 team. They are representative of a diverse group of creators who have long struggled to break through from web series and other smaller projects into the kind of budgets which have often seemed reserved for a particular generation of writers and showrunners.

Those who have watched from the sidelines for years will be hoping that this sudden opening in these critical roles, along with the great flowering of online platforms, is a sign that change is coming to an industry which has long seemed slow to adopt it. Those who have benefited from relationships with the recently departed, and the structure of this system, will be scrambling to adapt to this looming new world.