OFF MENU: Imposter vs Tall Poppy

I have a twisted admiration for people who can strut down a crowded street filming a selfie video — or casually whip their phone out in a crowded restaurant to snap some hashtag-food-porn. I do both, often. But every time I do, my insides curl into the foetal position and start comfort-rocking. It’s been happening a bit lately, from bashfully asking for a Logies vote (please!) to walking, talking, but-mostly-balking down cobblestoned Degraves Street. I’m not entirely sure why. I don’t flinch in a studio with nine cameras pointed at me. I grew up performing for family videos (cue my infamous Spice Girls beanbag concerts). I love sharing meals and experiences that move me. So, what’s the deal? I’ve got a few theories.

The first is that I studied journalism at a time when we were taught to remove ourselves entirely from the story and stick to sharing the facts. That’s completely changed with the boom and ubiquity of social media (both the “removing yourself” part and the “facts” part). Perhaps old habits die hard. Or maybe it’s the English and Australian in me, two cultures that value modesty, humility and a healthy dose of self-deprecation. Talking about your accomplishments is frowned upon; do it too loudly and you risk a swift swipe from the tall poppy scythe. It’s a pretty yucky human trait, particularly when there’s so much to be gained by lifting each other up.

And then there’s this: even in 2025, I sometimes wonder if I’ve been socially conditioned as a woman to shrink myself. Intellectually, I abhor that. But who knows what’s ticking away below the surface? All I can do is try to be aware of all of the above and stick to trusting my gut, my heart and my palate. This week, they’re telling me to share the scoop on a just-opened Korean-Japanese cafe, a tip from Jamie Oliver that changed how I designed my kitchen, and a lazy recipe for fancy eggs.