My Experience with Harvey Weinstein at the Hotel Du Cap: A Cautionary Tale

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I was just 23 years old when I had my unsettling encounter with Harvey Weinstein in 1997. I was a savvy young woman, hardened by life experiences, and though I emerged physically unscathed from my encounter with him, the emotional impact was profound.

As a model, I was no stranger to predatory behavior and had developed skills to fend off unwanted advances. I had even intervened to protect younger models from inappropriate situations and had once managed to scare off an armed attacker by laughing in his face. Yet, despite my bravado, I was still a naive girl from New Zealand, and my trust in people often put me in vulnerable positions.

The meeting took place at the Cannes Film Festival, where I found myself seated next to Harvey at a lavish dinner. I initially mistook him for just another eager producer trying to make a name for himself. Out of sympathy, I engaged him in conversation, unaware of his true identity until later in the night when I learned he was the head of Miramax. I felt a sense of comfort knowing we shared a mutual friend, acclaimed filmmaker Jane Campion, and didn’t think twice about being myself around him.

After dinner, our eclectic group, which included my modeling agent and some other socialites, continued the night’s festivities. Harvey and his assistant remained by my side, and I found the atmosphere enjoyable. I was no stranger to the glitz of Cannes; after all, I had witnessed my share of celebrity antics during my previous visit.

Around midnight, we ended up at a stunning mansion for an outdoor event. It was bustling with familiar faces, and I was in high spirits. However, as the night progressed, I became separated from my group and ended up being ushered into a car with Harvey and his associates. I naively assumed we were all heading to the same destination.

Once we arrived at the Hotel Du Cap, the plans suddenly changed. Harvey invited me to his suite for drinks, and as we waited, the atmosphere took a dark turn. I was left alone with him when he suddenly reappeared in the nude, asking for a massage. Panic set in as I realized the precariousness of my situation. I tried to negotiate my way out of it while my instincts screamed at me to escape.

Despite my fear, I managed to stand my ground. I locked myself in the bathroom as he pleaded with me to come out. In that moment of terror, I found a surprising well of courage and confronted him, demanding he put on some clothes and respect my boundaries. The encounter ended with him dressing and calling for his assistant, who looked visibly shaken.

As we left the hotel, I felt a mix of betrayal and anger. Harvey, clearly trying to make amends, spoke about helping me succeed in the industry, but I wasn’t interested. I just wanted to get home. His assistant even expressed remorse for what had happened, revealing that I wasn’t the first victim of Harvey’s predatory behavior.

The next morning, as I boarded my yacht, I reflected on what had transpired. The experience left me feeling alone, as my friends doubted my account of the night. When a bouquet of roses from Harvey arrived, thanking me for the previous night, my humiliation deepened.

Despite the ordeal, I was proud of how I handled the situation. It served as a stark reminder of the pervasive misogyny that exists in the industry. Each time I recount this story, I am reminded of the systemic issues that allow such behavior to continue unchecked.

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