To begin, a disclaimer:This ‘review’ is equally as biased as every other of last night’s airing of ‘Fearne & Peaches Geldof’, and differs only in that it is supportive of Peaches, rather than chastising her every word. I am merely a fan of hers, and beyond the occasional Tweet, have no affiliation with her, professionally or otherwise. My name happens to be Kirsty, but I am not Kirsty Williams, Peaches’ assistant/manager, who was also featured in the show. I have access to only public information about her life — in other words, I’m exposed to the same articles as everybody else, I simply choose to interpret them differently. I arguably have too much time on my hands, but more of a conscience than the people who seemingly dedicate their lives to tearing hers apart.

I tuned in to ‘Fearne & Peaches Geldof’ last night with bated breath. Upon discovering that she would be featured in the series a few months before, I’d grown increasingly excited, anticipating a real view into the person I consider her to be, and almost praying that it would be a turning point for her with regard to the media distaste (to put it lightly) she’s treated with on an almost daily basis. In the weeks leading up to the air date, the press were treated to leakings of quotes from the show, most of which seemed inconsequential and hardly of note (though, of course, as they were from Peaches’ mouth, everybody wrote about it anyway). In what seemed to be a last-ditch bid to promote the programme, a series of quotes regarding her interest in space, sci-fi and Scientology were released, garnering the negative attention the British media seems to reserve by the bucket-load for Peaches, and in turn, boosting the show’s audience to a still relatively low 580k. Assumingly, most people did not feel the need to tune in when the tabloids had already given a meagre outlook of the hour-long episode — Peaches complains of being exhausted after a few hours work, Peaches talks in a faux-American accent, Peaches falls asleep, Peaches is a bitch, Peaches is a Scientologist. It doesn’t make for thrilling reading, and even from my standpoint as a genuine fan, I didn’t find the programme terribly interesting. However, I didn’t consider it even remotely as mortifying as I’d imagined. I cringed at her eventual admission that she’s an “actual” Scientologist rather than just exploring its teachings and I winced at her accent at times, but at no point did my “like-o-meter”, let’s say, drop below a respectable “she’s really not that bad” rating.

Admittedly, I’m as biased as can be. I dislike Fearne Cotton and her obnoxious style of presenting/interviewing that fails to ever establish a semblance of a real connection between herself and her victim, her tendency to amp up her “Britishness”, or her belief that she’s so edgy but simultaneously so professional — neither of which, as far as I can see, she manages to pull off convincingly. I’m a Psychology graduate with ambitions of becoming a counsellor, which, many might argue, means I’m drawn to people with “issues”, and I wouldn’t wholly disagree with that. I wouldn’t say it’s my sole or even primary motivator, but it ranks pretty highly. I, like most humans, like to understand things, particularly the human mind and its influence on our behaviour. I favour the social learning view that we begin our lives as clean slates and our behaviour is, to a large extent, governed by our experiences. I could review the entire show in light of this, but it wouldn’t be fair to Peaches. Say what you will about her, but the one thing about her, above all else, that should be admired is her assertion that she isn’t a victim. Having read a number of Paula Yates’ books (her autobiography [1996], The Fun Starts Here [1990], The Fun Don’t Stop [1991]) as well as the heart-wrenching (although perhaps not meticulously accurate) story that is Paula, Michael & Bob: Everything You Know Is Wrong, it would be an understatement to say that the Geldof clan have gone through the wringer, and in ways that I shan’t disclose, that Peaches sometimes bore the brunt of the negative, sometimes dangerous goings-on. Pixie, with a degree of frequency, refers to the huge impact Paula’s death had on she and her sisters (“She’s got problems just like all of us have about what happened to my mum… We’re all depressed in our family”). Peaches, on the other hand, has only recently begun so much as passing references to her late mother, and when asked about the impact her childhood has had on her, puts on an admirably brave front: “I’ve been through a lot in my life… But I’m not the type to dwell on things – I just try to move on.” Perhaps things would be easier for her if she did choose to dwell on — or even just acknowledge — the lasting influence her younger years have had on her. Would it instil any kind of conscience in the so-called journalists touting her stroll to the local Sainsbury’s as newsworthy?

But back to the show. Fearne’s arrival at Peaches’ New York apartment is an awkward one, to say the least. Her intercom-transmitted silence is used as the first indicator of the “diva-like qualities” mentioned in the programme’s introduction, and met by a bemused, if not a little irritated shrug. Bad manners? Perhaps. But already, it’s plain to see that Peaches’ life is not like most others, if you’re willing to not smear a coat of loathing over the microscope lens you’re looking at her through. While, for most, a buzz at the door is indicative of a visitor — a friend, perhaps — for Peaches, I can say with a degree of certainty, this is rarely the case. After her self-proclaimed “bad drug experience” in July 2008, her flat was hounded by the press, leaving her friends to take turns at the intercom to tell photographers and journos that she would not be making a statement. If everybody knows where you live, particularly people you don’t wish to associate with, how likely are you to respond to requests to enter the building? She does, of course, grant her access to the Williamsburg apartment building, and is even waiting at the front door to greet her new ‘friend’ for the forthcoming six months. Peaches’ attempt to welcome the camera crew is met by silence, and already her defences are up: “Can I not introduce myself or do you just want to stick a camera in my face right now?” Perhaps not the first time she’s had to utter such words in a world where she’s known as a face, or as some kind of media construct, rather than as an actual person. The grand tour is less grand than most might have imagined of somebody perceived to be obscenely rich — the apartment’s living room is decidedly narrow, and though it does boast a modest balcony, a large portion of the flat can be taken in with one short, sweeping shot. The girls head for Peaches’ bedroom which, again, is modest — crowded by clothes and books, with the only hint at organisation being her colour-coded bookshelves. Touting her tastes as “weird” and “embarrassing”, Peaches seems both precocious and pretentious, but my take is a little different. Ask anybody to describe her in one word and the answers you’re likely to get will range from “brat” and “spoilt” to, almost certainly, “c***” if you manage to get past the tired/irritated groans of despair at her existence (I’ve tried and tested this). I saw her offerings of bizarre reading material as an unprecedented level of openness from Peaches; an instant attempt to erase people’s perceptions of her. A wasted effort, but an effort nonetheless. She describes her life in New York as much more relaxed than the fast-paced lifestyle she experiences at home in London, a first indicator, for me, that she may not be comfortable with taking part in the show. She witters on nervously about her love of awkward silences as Fearne examines the kitchen. “I like awkwardness,” she professes, “What is that person thinking [in an awkward silence]?” I’d deem this a fair interest, one indicative of a level of awareness of others that many would deny she even possesses. But no — if my Google Alerts are anything to go by, she’s being strung up for having such thoughts even as I type this. God forbid.

During the ride into Manhattan (Peaches will be spending the afternoon filming for Nylon TV), Fearne asks how she deals with the “negative aspects of being famous” — the paparazzi, negative press, living under a microscope. She describes Britain’s relationship with celebrity culture as like Marmite (“either they love it or they hate it”) and explains that the foundation of the current press seems to be on making people more content with their own lives (“they want to know how bad everything is because they can reconcile it with getting out of bed at 6am and working for minimum wage”) by showing the negative aspects of those said to live in the lap of luxury. Despite the fact that she lives with “the haters” and their negative comments on a daily basis, her insight into the culture of celebrity is mature given that personal experience has a tendecy to blur any logical reasoning about most things. It seems that growing up in the lime-light has given her a first-hand understanding of it and its function in Western society, in contrast to people who have to work to become famous, then can’t stand the heat once they make it. Though she used to regularly complain about photographers and low-quality journalists in years gone by, the segment makes her seem accepting of her role in celebrity culture — she makes people feel better about themselves, and whether her indirect way of doing this is based on fact or fiction is irrelevant to how the system works. As relaxed as she claims her NYC life to be, her afternoon of approaching strangers on the street to talk about denim turns into something of a frenzy, leaving Fearne to head back to the office alone, seemingly sulking. She seems, to say the least, pissed off that Peaches admits to not having a desk in the Nylon office as she writes from home — why this is supposed to be a bad thing is beyond me, as Fearne doesn’t have a 9-5 office job herself — but she does have some kind words about her presenting style, and even manages to avoid comparing her to Paula, giving her credit of her own, and well-deserved, too.

The issue of her party lifestyle finally comes up later in the evening when she, Kirsty and Fearne head over to Chrissie’s house to “hang out… It’s not like a party.” During the cab journey to the Lower East Side, Peaches claims to not feel the need to party in New York and denies being anything of a party animal whilst in London — she quite rightly argues that young girls go out clubbing once a week, but it seems as though she goes out more than she does purely because she’s photographed and the images are forced on people for days, if not weeks, after the event. “Would it be more normal for me to not ever go out?” she asks, and Fearne has no rebuttal beyond a non-committal “Hmm.” As did most viewers, I’m sure. The editing of the next part infuriated me most. Claiming she wished Peaches had shown her a wild night out in New York, the evening appears to end with Fearne seeming impressed that she genuinely doesn’t party. The lead-up to Peaches’ arrival the following morning was so heavily manipulated that it’s easy to see why she might have been reluctant to get involved in such a project. Having watched the awkward clip posted on itv.com yesterday morning, I was utterly dreading it. While I didn’t think of her behaviour as particularly offensive, it was clear that everybody — from Fearne’s fans, to the tabloid press and the land of self-righteousness that is the blogosphere — perceived her as the devil incarnate for her attitude. Earlier in the afternoon, I’d asked a close friend why everybody hates her so much, and one of the points to come up was that her tone of voice depicts a chronic disinterest in everything around her, and that she has an air of thinking herself to be better than every one and every thing. This seemed to be the case, on face value. Her tone is something I find difficult to defend here (to lament that she was hungover seems like a losing battle), but her sentiments, on the other hand? So completely misinterpreted and badly portrayed. Having seemed so detached from celebrity culture in earlier instances, Fearne’s need to nudge her into disclosing some kind of secret self-absorption is entirely unnecessary. “Don’t you Google yourself?” seems to be code for “Don’t you validate your existence by seeing what people you neither know nor care about think of you?”, while Peaches’ unconvinced snort at Fearne’s claims that she refuses to stay out beyond midnight is, in my belief, acceptable. Look back but a year or two and she wasn’t astonishingly different to Peaches — partying regularly, dating musicians. She’s 27 now, and has therefore, she claims, calmed down. Finally, the glaring reminder I’d been waiting for — the world has its own standards by which to judge Peaches. An ordinary twenty year old going to a club is nothing out of the ordinary, but she does it, and she’s chastised and deemed a wild child. “Like, never,” does not mean never, surely you’re young enough to remember that, Fearne? Are you really so personally offended that somebody you don’t even like ditched you go hang out with other people? I agree with Peaches — your life really is that mediocre. It’s no surprise that she puts up barriers when she gets torn apart for being normal.

When Fearne meets up with Peaches in London, the barriers are still up, though not as heavily as in New York. On my third time of watching, I’m still not sure what the desperate tattoo project Fearne brings with her is about, but it softens her enough to admit that she is, in fact, a Scientologist. ‘Nanny Kirsty’ disapproves of her openness, but she continues anyway. Sinister aspects of the so-called religion aside, I can understand the appeal for Peaches. Looking at the organisation’s homepage, it posits that “[man's] capabilities are unlimited, even if not presently realized,” and that “he is able to not only solve his own problems, accomplish his goals and gain lasting happiness, but also achieve new, higher states of awareness and ability.” Delve further, and it can be seen that Scientology is staunchly opposed to drugs, promotes a healthy lifestyle (with rather odd methods of achieving “health”, but who am I to judge?) and seems to offer a glorified counselling service via its auditing process. The basis of the “faith” is to realise one’s full potential, and this is particularly where I can see the allure for somebody, like Peaches, who isn’t given a fair chance to demonstrate their abilities. Before her own, self-funded magazine, Disappear Here, was launched in December 2009, it was written off as a (tongue-in-cheek) “underground hipster style mag”, rather than as a word-spreading tool for new bands and artists, as it was intended. Her articles for Nylon Magazine are ripped limb from limb, seemingly purely because they’re written by her. Ignorant of the fact that she’s unlikely to get a free-reign over what she writes about, the column’s readers post malicious comments (less so about her writing and more about her character flaws), and the reaction to her first article last summer was so cruel that replies had to be moderated and the most offensive actually removed. Having doors opened by your last name isn’t all it’s cracked up to be in a world that slams them once you’ve shuffled your foot inside, whether your leg is caught or not. It might not be to everybody’s taste, but if Scientology is going to inspire her to persevere in her career, encourage good habits, and make her happy, who can fairly judge? Who’s life does it really affect if she follows the religion? As their lunch date continues, and Peaches describes her frustration at being compared to her mother and her whirlwind marriage to Maxwell Drummey, further reasons for her interest in the religion seem to surface — if it provides an outlet for her grief, and centres her… Do I really need to say it again?

Their final encounter is on a country jaunt where Peaches is doing a photoshoot, and as far as I can see, the most accurate depiction of her lowered defences and actual personality. She expresses her dislike for television presenting, claiming only to take it on because her manager encourages it, and it brings her closer to her pipe dream of becoming something of a recluse (“If I had my way I’d be obese, in a house with like 50 cats, sitting inside and never going out… Is this bringing me closer to my dream of obesity and locking myself away from the world?”). She’s relaxed and giggly around her friends, much more natural than throughout the rest of the show. It wouldn’t be in the spirit of the British media to show more of this honest side of her, and it frustrates me to no end that her “nice side” seemed to be tacked onto the end in a bid to appear balanced. “Part of me is just always guarded,” she admits, reminiscent of previous interviews wherein her standoffish nature is replaced by a confession of how difficult she finds it to trust people, proving that she can lower her defences if given a chance to be accepted as she is. One thing that struck me about her disinterest in television work was that perhaps her high-profile lifestyle may be something of a mistake. While she grew up in the public eye, she wasn’t considered a person of interest until she forced herself into the limelight at fifteen, an age where foolishness is a requirement, not an option. In her early articles, she talks of dreams of becoming a journalist and author, never about being a public figure or even being particularly well-known. Could her celebrity status be a “weird, fun” idea gone awry? It doesn’t seem to be what she wants at all at the present time, but she puts on a stoic front and doesn’t seem too perturbed by the often cruel things people write about her. Her attention is quite literally out of the world she’s such a huge part of, settled elsewhere, and focused on bigger and brighter things. Perhaps she’ll stick with her dream of becoming a recluse, and live out her days away from the media glare after saving enough money to enable her to do so. Writing under a pseudonym, her work may get the recognition it may prove to deserve. And above all, she may finally be happy — she may finally be her weird, awkward self.