By Danielle Graham
I’m a superstitious person. I blame my Italian heritage for that: culturally, so many things are considered bad luck, like shoes on a table. (Don’t do it. And if you do, don’t say I didn’t warn you.)
Outside of the many Italian ones I inherited—as well as the obvious, like don’t walk under a ladder—my superstition lives in repeating systems and formulas that have worked before. I do it every week with our podcast IN THREE. I must be the one to push ‘record.’ Caleigh Rykiss, my bestie who I launched the podcast with, must be the one to count us in.
I’m just not one to mess with a good thing.
During the many years I covered awards season, my work rituals were on another level. I got my nails done on the ground in LA at the same strip-mall nail salon every year. After that appointment, I’d pick up my snacks (Cheetos, Combos, Red Vines, Peanut M&M’s and Diet Pepsi). I ate the same lunch every day I was there. I wore the same shoes (which you never saw) under every gown. On show day, I always pinned an Italian horn (cornicello) inside my dress, over my heart, for protection from the malocchio (the evil eye). IYKYK
And yet, even with all my systems in place and wrapped around me like a five-star hotel robe, things still went sideways sometimes.
Like the year my Oscar’s dress went missing. I had packed it in my checked luggage (I knowwww…) and someone accidentally took my bag instead of their own. When it didn’t arrive with the rest of the luggage, I checked at the desk to see if it was still in Toronto. The ground staff scanned my tag and assured me it was not. Cue: panic and the urge to vomit. I noticed that one lonely suitcase was still left circling the carousel, and I assumed it belonged to whoever had mine. Thankfully, those Type-A travellers had stuck a big ol’ name tag on it. Now I just had to reach them. Cue: Twitter. I sent out a tweet, it got retweeted and shared a bunch, and eventually their kids saw it and connected me to their parents, who were thankfully staying not far from me. I met them at their hotel (they were lovely and deeply apologetic) and got my bag back just in time, as they were about to leave for a cruise. My dress was nearly at sea.
There was also the year at the Oscars when I was pregnant with my first daughter, Beatrix. After wrapping the show, I went back to the hotel and followed the same system I always had of ordering all the beige foods on the room service menu: chicken fingers, fries, onion rings, grilled cheese. Some will say it was the food. I say it was the brutal virus sweeping LA that year that landed me in Cedars-Sinai that night. Yes, the hospital where all the Kardashian-Jenner women, as well as Rihanna, Beyoncé, Gwyneth Paltrow and many more have given birth at one time or another. I was hooked up to monitors, and while I watched a replay of E!’s red-carpet coverage on a massive TV screen, doctors who looked like they’d walked off the set of Grey’s Anatomy checked on me. I joked I must be in the Kardashian wing—and no one denied it. It was the most luxurious hospital stay I’ve ever experienced. I have the bill to prove it.
A few years later, five weeks after giving birth to my second daughter, Marigold, I was on the Oscars’ red carpet. Completely my choice. I didn’t want to miss it. I’d also heard the whispers that once I announced my pregnancy, other hosts were eager to step in, and I just couldn’t imagine watching someone else in my spot while I watched at home. I had gown fittings two weeks after giving birth (there was no way to try on dresses in the third trimester, so this was the best option). On Oscar night, I wore layers of undergarments that felt like medieval devices (again, my choice). The live show would be over an hour long, and I thought I’d timed everything perfectly…but adrenaline had other ideas. Eleven minutes before going live, my boobs said, “We gotta go.” There was no way I would make it through the show without leaking milk all over national television. So I had no choice but to wrestle my way out of the top half of the dress and the aforementioned undergarments and pump behind a curtain overlooking Hollywood Blvd. Then I zipped up and got back to my position with moments to spare. After the show, with enough milk to fill a fridge, packed in dry ice inside a travel cooler, I headed right to the airport to catch the red-eye. I wanted to be home when my girls woke up.
Honestly, these calamities are some of my favourite memories of those wild years. Those, and the first time seeing it all IRL. I remember vividly the first time I saw the Oscars’ red-carpet setup—in my mind, saying, “So this is it,” trying to line up what I’d seen on TV for years and what my own eyes were taking in. So that’s where the cars pull up. Oh, that’s the photo wall.
I know it may seem silly to some, but these award shows hold a special place in my heart. For my first date with my now husband, Randall, he cooked dinner, and we watched the Oscars, making bets on winners. It’s a tradition we still have, 15 years and counting. A few years later, he was sending me photos of him and baby Bea watching me on TV. A full-circle moment that makes me smile as I type this.
Our daughter Goldie was born on Golden Globes Sunday. We launched IN THREE with a Golden Globes recap. I love how awards season keeps finding its way into my work and family life, and I can’t wait to see what memories come next.
Until next month, keep your shoes off the table.
Danielle
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