KEY POINTS:
I need to start this blog by announcing I have nothing against hairdressing legend Rodney Wayne. Really, I don't. The eternal George Hamilton tan doesn't bother me; neither does the silver fox coif that would leave only Peter Dunne envious; nor the shirts always worn that little bit too open exposing a few grey chest hairs and what seems, an appreciation for Engelbert Humperdinck.
Click here for photos of the event taken by Norrie Montgomery.
I've met Rodney a handful of times over the past year, at various social occasions, and have found him to be warm, friendly, open-hearted, party-loving... and always happy to have his photo taken in my social column.
I emphasise this not to embarrass him, but because a lot of men when they get to Wayne's age - 60, by the way - having achieved success in business, social acclaim by their peer groups, and love and devotion in their family life, would be forgiven for declining the opportunity to be snapped in Spy and keener to embrace their golden years shrivelling into obscurity and discreet privacy - but not Wayne.
It appears having hit the big 6-0 with a lavish birthday bash on Sunday night (more on that later), Rodney Wayne has, in a Prince Charles sort of way post-Diana, come out on society, again. He's risen from the ashes of society Auckland, phoenix-like, to see and be seen. And good on him. Last week we snapped him Churchillian-like puffing away on a Cohiba at the Aqualine party on Cup Day like some sort of elder statesman. And he is, in the hairdressing world.
(Click here for photos of the event taken by Norrie Montgomery.)
A blonde friend of mine in PR, who's involved in the publicity of his company's brand, quietly confided recently that "Rodney appreciates the value of self-promotion". His eponymously named company, that has become a franchise force, (60 in New Zealand; 4 in Oz) over the last 40 years, is rather an obvious testament to that.
Self promotion is an art form we Kiwis often sneer at. Winston Peters used to excel at it, but that was before conspiracy theories and abhorrence to the media appeared to take over, and, well, you know the score. Self promotion is very hard to do when you don't have the (right) raison d'être, nor the platform from which to stand on your soap box.
Enter Vector Arena and a 60th birthday party.
It's fair to say not many people would consider a stadium where the likes of Justin Timberlake, Duran Duran and Andrea Bocelli have performed, as the ideal venue for which to celebrate a birthday. But most people aren't Rodney Wayne.
Why have a small Black Forrest gateau when you can have a metre-long birthday cake covered in butter fondant icing and sparklers carried in by two burly men? Why have a DJ in the corner, when you can have a full band, scantily-clad Candy Lane dancers and bare-chested male models wearing angel wings abseiling in from the ceiling? Why have your bestie making a speech, when you can have entertainer Jackie Clarke as your mistress of ceremonies?
Wayne's milestone celebration had all that and so much more. Studio 54 was the theme, and Wayne as a sort of Steve Rubell figure but less camp, played host. There were drag queens, a cocktail lounge singer, a This-Is-Your-Life video photo library of memories, celebrity video tributes from Simon Dallow, Denise L'Estrange-Corbet and Candy Lane, and a short, swift fashion show that highlighted the kind of dos your locks could get swished into at a Rodney Wayne salon.
Following this theme of self promotion, albeit more explicitly now, was the night's awards ceremony. Wayne, a former butcher (which possibly explains Peter Leitch's presence at the party) presented awards to various employees (ALL female bar one) of the company with a passionate hug and accompanied by shrill screeching from large chunks of the audience.
Five hundred parts of the audience, actually. You see, Wayne's 60th birthday party was also a 40th anniversary acknowledgement of the Rodney Wayne business empire. A two-for-one celebration. Five hundred young Rodney Wayne employees from all round the country were present at the bash on Sunday night dressed in their finest short, shiny, strapless frocks. The rest of the crowd - three hundred odd - was made up of friends, acquaintances, and people like me who didn't know Wayne from Adam but felt obliged to come, partly out of curiosity and partly to honour the lock legend.
I sat next to the beautiful Brazilian model Grace Owen who felt much the same way. It was the night before her big psychology exam and she'd brought her study notes with her. While we sat through the never-ending awards ceremony, Owen was swatting up on her cognitive science.
And that was the real theme of the evening. Sure, Wayne probably spent his entire 08/09 marketing budget on a self-promotional party extolling his milestone years, but the eight hundred guests who accepted his invitation to a three-course, sit-down dinner were happy to come to acknowledge the man himself.
Rachel Glucina
Pictured above: Denise and Rodney Wayne at Rodney's 60th birthday party at Auckland's Vector Arena. Photo / Norrie Montgomery.
