IT'S HOLLYWOOD, BABY

Me at 14, playing dress up posing with my grandad’s Oscars at home.

Buckle up kiddos and get ready for story time, Hollywood style. I’m Liz Goldwyn & this is STARF*CKER.

Some of you may know me as an Author (three books so far) or the Founder of The Sex Ed, an educational platform dedicated to Sex, Health & Consciousness. I’ve also been identified as an Artist and a Filmmaker (both true.) Some people know me as a vintage clothing collector and sometimes fashion muse. I’ve had a lot of identities and career twists thus far. 

But I have another not-so-secret identity, one that was handed to me at birth, by no achievement of my own. Yep, I’m one of those “nepo-babies.” 

I come from a long line (by Hollywood standards) of showbiz folk. My paternal grandfather was movie mogul Samuel Goldwyn, who left his homeland and family in Warsaw at 12 or 13 (accounts differ,) penniless, to eventually find fame and fortune as one of the original founders of Hollywood. 

My paternal grandparents in the 1920s

He married my paternal grandmother, Frances Howard, an actress and Vogue model, shortly after meeting her at the New York City penthouse of Condé Nast during a party. Apparently Nast was interested in the ravishing redhead himself but grandpa won out. 

My late father, Samuel Goldwyn Jr., grew up in the golden days of Hollywood, when they used to call movies “the silver screen.” He later founded his own company, where he produced and distributed independent, art house films and documentaries working closely with auteurs like David Lynch, Ang Lee and Ossie Davis, to name but a few. Not to say that Dad was anti-commercial—he was a producer on the multi-Oscar nominated Master and Commander starring Russell Crowe and some of the films he was involved with during his 65 years in the biz, included the first starring roles of Julia Roberts (Mystic Pizza) and Jim Carrey (Once Bitten.) 

Me & Dad at top right on the set of Once Bitten (1985) Pops is in his trademark 60s aviator shades, always stylish and often in a white suit.

Into the 3rd generation of this family, amongst six kids from two marriages, I was born. Of my four brothers, three are in the entertainment business, in front of and behind the camera. Two of my half-brothers were already extremely successful by the time I was a pre-teen. As of this writing, three of my nieces and multiple in-laws are also in the industry.  

For a long time, I was kind of the “black sheep” of the family— the one who was always getting into trouble, (more on this later) questioning the value system of the industry I was raised in and rebelling against the label “Hollywood Royalty” that others bestowed upon me.

I used to cringe when people called me that,  it felt more like a weighted coat I didn’t choose rather than a crown of my own design. Now the moniker fits as a loosely wrapped garment, just another part of my story. 

Heading to the Academy Awards with my dad in the late 1980s

But I’ll be real with you—before I could accept this identity with grace (and write about it,) I had to prove something to myself first, to define myself outside of the accomplishments of the men in my family.

After many years researching, writing and talking about SEX (more on that later, too) I am finally ready to tackle the topic I’ve been running from all my life: Hollywood. 

As a teenager, whenever I questioned the-then Hollywood powers that be and the narrative of celebrity being the end-all-be-all, my dad would say “don’t shit where you eat.” 

But as an adult who pays her own bills…fuck it, I’m gonna spill the tea….short of getting sued for libel. 

Part of the privilege of the access I have been granted by my birthright is to have seen and heard some really wild secrets and stories—from the tales of my grandparents and dad’s childhood, to being a kid in the 1980s during the height of movie star madness, to the indie scene of the 90s and early 2000s, when my friends and I were coming of age and into our own careers in showbiz to observing the MeToo and Black Lives Matter lip service Hollywood paid to pacify a newly woke social media mob. 

I met Oprah as an awkward 9-year-old with a bad perm and blew lines of coke in the bathroom at the Tunnel nightclub in New York at 16 during the filming of Kids. At this point, it’s all fodder. 

Art school girl, NYC, mid 90s

Come along for the ride as I go deep into the archives, unearthing my diaries and photos for a no holds barred look at Hollywood from an insider (hence the paywall on some of these stories; identities and names may be changed to protect the living and so people don’t sic their PR machines on me.) 

STARF*CKER is me pulling back the curtains, revealing what goes on behind the scenes and beyond the facade of celebrity, wealth, glamour and infamy. It is also a personal story about sticking out, fitting in and how our origin stories shape the people we become.  

There’s sex, drugs, more rap than rock n roll, skater boys, supermodels, art stars, fashion freaks, celebrities, scandals, porn and movie stars and even a murder (gonna keep that plot-line up my sleeve til you’re hooked, though.) 

I am writing this tale in real time, serialized.

Let me set the scene…

Xx

STARF*CKER… dropping more names than the USA drops bombs.