If journalists had paid as much attention to Joe Biden as they do to Gwyneth Paltrow, that debate would not have been such a shocker. Since her critically acclaimed role in 1993’s Flesh and Bone, the only public figure who has been more conspicuous is Trump.
And who knew the two had so much in common? In Gwyneth, Amy Odell’s new, 448-page biography—unauthorized, and all the better for it—even those of us who are embarrassingly au courant with People and “Page Six” learn a lot.
Paltrow, too, has a fondness for scorched earth and petty nicknames—her friend Winona became her enemy “Vagina Ryder.” She possesses a superhuman confidence that even Harvey Weinstein couldn’t crack. Her great strength is her refusal to be shamed. (Some might call this “cluelessness.”) The public loves to hate and hates to love her with equal intensity.
The broad strokes of Paltrow’s life are already American gospel, but thanks to Gwyneth, we now have something closer to a cautionary tale. Odell, who also wrote a recent biography of Anna Wintour, scrounged up more than 220 Paltrow friends and foes to contribute to the legend, and, oh, it’s juicy.
Among our learnings: She was rejected by Vassar. Her godfather, Steven Spielberg, called her “Gwynnie the Pooh.” She dabbled in teabagging with Ben Affleck and pondered baby-making with Luke Wilson. Like Tiger Woods, who clocked thousands of hours studying his father’s golf swing from his high chair, she spent her childhood taking notes of her mother, Blythe Danner, when she performed at the Williamstown Theatre Festival. And after all these years, she’s still obsessed with high school (Spence, more precisely, where she was remembered as a C-plus or B student who ordered pizza to detention).
For decades, the press has been asking whether Paltrow is a monster or just misunderstood. It feels sexist to say it, but she’s always been a bit of a mean girl. She simply never stops acting. Look at the live stream of her 2023 trial, over a skiing accident in Deer Valley, Utah. The 76-year-old plaintiff claimed Paltrow ran into him, causing injury and personality changes; her cross-examination included discussion of her friend Taylor Swift. At one point, she winked at the jury. No wonder they found the plaintiff at fault. As Paltrow swanned out of the courtroom, she placed her hand on his shoulder and said, “I wish you well.”
Odell also explores the more interesting matter of what, exactly, Paltrow has done to our culture. No one disputes her on-screen talent; she was exquisite in films such as Shakespeare in Love and Emma. She wanted it all so badly—the Vogue covers, the Valentino, the Brad Pitts and Ben Afflecks, the private planes, chefs, and yoga instructors, even the criticism and mockery—that, like something out of Iron Man, she morphed into an avatar for the 21st-century American woman.
But her Hollywood accomplishments are secondary to what she’s done with Goop. Despite its silliness and unconscionable aversion to science—as well as its toxic office culture and failure to ever turn an annual profit—there’s no going back to the days before the jade egg. She was a pioneer, spokesperson, and guinea pig for what would become Big Wellness, which is expected to be a $9 trillion industry by 2028.
Paltrow’s greatest talent is as a saleswoman hawking aspiration. Anyone who can make vaginal steaming sound kind of sexy would have killed it on QVC.
It’s asking way too much to expect her to be “normal” (whatever that means). And, occasionally, it takes a renegade—“visionary,” “crazy person,” take your pick—to start certain conversations, especially if they skew macrobiotic. (Why else would so many otherwise sensible people pin their hopes on R.F.K. Jr.?)
But here’s the thing: Remember the much-ridiculed turkey-ragù recipe in Goop’s first newsletter? It’s actually pretty good. The G. Label collection of clothing might hit $20 million in revenue this year. She’s still close with her best friend from kindergarten, which should count for something. And don’t even get me started on Goop Kitchen, which is the best thing to happen to take-out salads since Sweetgreen.
Paltrow barely made it through a single semester at the University of California, Santa Barbara—and would carry that chip on her shoulder for decades—but she still built something significant through sheer force of will. She never stopped believing that women wanted to be just like her, despite so much evidence to the contrary.
According to Odell, Paltrow is finally getting tired of it all, looking to unload Goop after burning through several rounds of investment and countless colleagues. Its revenue and influence could be shrinking with each new episode of the Huberman Lab podcast, but so what? Maybe her next stop should be Shark Tank.
Ashley Baker is a Deputy Editor at AIR MAIL and a co-host of the Morning Meeting podcast
