Every few years, Harvey picks a new girl as his pet. He puts her in a picture or two, takes her to an event, and not unlike Cher Horowitz, makes her a project, an attempted creation.
The Harvey Girls are easily spotted. They are all very pretty, often in a rather generic sense. Their instant fame and the push behind them comes seemingly out of nowhere and without any justification in terms of resume or skill set. Most obviously, at least as of 2007, they are clothed exclusively in Marchesa on the red carpet (the fashion line of Weinstein’s wife, Georgina Chapman). So if you were wondering why Harvey Weinstein seems only interested in actresses who dress like fairy princesses from Planet Sugarplum, it’s his wife’s fault. But the most telling sign, if you’re looking, is the Want. These girls, each of them, has the look of desperation, of need. They WILL be famous. They WILL be stars.
Rumors of Harvey’s casting couch ways are legendary. As a minor Midwestern blogger, I can’t know their validity. But I do know for each of these girls, there was an enormous PR push, proclamations of “it-girl” and “the next big thing” and then a fairly daunting silence that had to be devastating to these young women who really believed this was their “it.”
One of the Harvey Girls was Gwyneth Paltrow, and I suppose she’s what keeps the line long and wanton. But there can only be so many Gwyneths. There’s no shortage of Gretchens.