The Golden Girl

When she finally breezes into the hospitality room of Fairfax, Virginia’s Patriot Center, all blonde hair and pink lipstick and the brightest smile this side of a toothpaste commercial, there is a collective sigh of relief.

Okay, sure, she may be trailed by her tour manager, sister and mother-manager, and it will be stipulated that her publicist must remain in the room at all times while we talk, but she is nevertheless here, in the flesh and up close, just as we were thinking it would never happen.

Blender has been trying to tie Hilary Duff down—metaphorically, of course—for several weeks now. This has been no easy task because the 16-year-old starlet has protection to rival the President’s. Were documentary filmmaker Michael Moore to ever attempt a film on her, he’d come away empty-handed, because even if the singer’s bodyguards failed in hampering his efforts, her “momager,” Susan Duff, surely wouldn’t.

Susan Duff has a certain way about her. It’s in the eyes and the rigid set of her teeth. She may be small and compact, standing no taller than Blender’s chest, but don’t be fooled by anything so insignificant as her size.

“I do have a reputation for being extremely tough,” she concedes, leaning back at a 45-degree angle to make eye contact. “And you know what? I don’t care. When it comes to my daughter, I will do anything possible to protect her.”

Before Blender was granted access onto her daughter’s first-ever national tour, there were several conditions that had to be met. We could not, for example, stay at the same hotel as Hilary, nor were we allowed any access to her on her days off. We were not permitted within spitting distance of her dressing room, nor her tour bus. There would be no chance of ever getting her alone, and we would receive no more than 30 minutes with her at a time.

“This can be a very twisted business,” Susan says, “but it’s my job to do the best I can for my child. If that means adding an ugly reputation into the bargain, fine by me.”

As a matter of course, no one would fully trust us, and we would be viewed with extreme caution, a potential enemy. If any of the rules were contravened, Mom could decide to have Blender immediately tossed off the tour. Who knows? If really angered, she could even arrange to have us whacked. Hey, it happens.

There are, of course, good reasons for this. Her daughter is one of the most successful and influential teenagers in America today, a 21st-century Doris Day who sings and acts so winningly that it has garnered her a rumored $25 million fortune. As TV’s “Lizzie McGuire,” a likeable, above-average high-school girl whose tender growing pains quickly found empathy with a viewing audience of over 20 million, she became something of a tween-girl icon—less sexified than Britney, more approachable than the Olsens.

But since becoming a singer 12 short months ago, she has been the target of a lot of criticism from the press and her peers, particularly actress Lindsay Lohan, who has publicly derided her with compulsive frequency. This is something Hilary had never experienced in her 16 years, and it caused so much hurt that her mom went into protective overdrive.

While Hilary herself may be blissfully unaware of just how contrived is the bubble in which she exists, a positively Herculean effect goes into keeping her wrapped up in cotton wool these days. Her sunny disposition must be maintained above all else.

“What you have to understand,” her mother says, “is that as far as Hilary is concerned, she is a completely ordinary American girl. And I plan to see to it that it stays that way.”


Hilary Duff was born on September 28, 1987, in Houston, Texas. Her father, Bob, ran a string of convenience stores across America’s warmest state, and her mother sold cosmetics. When she was 9, she, older sister Haylie and Mom left Dad to tend the family business while they tried their luck at making it big in Los Angeles. Two years of failed auditions followed and then, aged 12, she landed the titular role on Lizzie McGuire, which went on to become the most successful Disney children’s TV show in the company’s history.

At 15, she branched out into movies, appearing in a range of box-office hits: The Lizzie McGuire Movie, Agent Cody Banks, Cheaper by the Dozen and, most recently, A Cinderella Story. In each, she essentially plays an extension of herself, a sweet, wholesome girl who shuns the very notion of bad behavior and instead exemplifies the benefits of a decent upbringing. These characters, like Duff herself, have never slammed shut a bedroom door in their lives, never found solace in Eminem. In short, the characters she plays—and Hilary herself—are the kind of daughter every mom would want. All of which combines to make her box-office gold.

In 2003, she decided to become a pop star because “it seemed like fun,” and used her power and influence to procure some of the biggest producers and songwriters around today. The resulting Metamorphosis, a masterfully executed tour through contempo mall-pop, ’80s new-wave bubblegum and girl-power affirmations, was the year’s eighth best-selling album, shifting the bulk of its almost five million copies to a constituency comprised mostly of under-12s. Currently, she is managing something both Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera have failed: a sold-out summer tour. She has two more films in the can, and on her 17th birthday this year, she’ll release her second album, simply titled Hilary Duff, which she hopes will take a great many people by surprise. Why? Because Hilary has learned to rock.

“I feel so blessed,” she says, smiling demurely. The stripped lighting overhead bounces off her blonde hair and almost, but not quite, creates a kind of halo.

Speak to anyone around her and they’ll tell you Duff is as affable and grounded as her public persona. She is complimented for being down-to-earth, vivacious and adorable—and for her phenomenal drive. Even sister Haylie, a 19 year old who probably has more reasons to resent Hilary than most, offers nothing but glowing endorsements.

“She is just so talented,” Haylie coos. It was Haylie’s acting and singing ambitions that first took the Duff clan to Hollywood, and although Haylie is currently supporting her sister on tour, she remains very firmly in her sibling’s shadow. Her own debut album has been ready for some time now but will only come out when Hilary has sufficiently basked in the limelight unhindered.

“I know that my time will come,” Haylie says, “and so meantime, I’m just happy to watch Hilary enjoy everything that’s coming her way.”

As Chairman of the Buena Vista Music Group, a division of the Walt Disney Company, Bob Cavallo has been instrumental in Hilary’s music career. He, too, is full of admiration.

“Sure, she’s cute and wholesome,” he says, “but she is also talented, intelligent, essentially decent and humble. You put those things together, along with incredible focus, and that really is something special. Look at what she’s achieved: In one year alone, she’s made two albums, contributed four songs to the Cinderella soundtrack, gone on tour and filmed three movies. On top of that, she’s done countless promotional duties and yet remains cool, calm and collected. That, to me, is pretty amazing.”

Little wonder, then, that Duff is so disarmingly buoyant. But, she insists, a little reality has crashed headlong into her life of late. Her father, who continues to remain in Texas but visits every three weeks, has been called upon whenever she has felt down and depressed, which is increasingly often.

“There is absolutely no way you can prepare yourself for criticism,” she says, “and I’ve had a lot of it recently. At first, everybody thought I was a joke for trying to become a pop star. Then certain people didn’t like my music, and for some reason they didn’t like the fact that I had my own clothing line [Stuff by Hilary Duff]. Suddenly, I seemed to be, like, the butt of all these jokes.”

Avril Lavigne was one of her most vocal detractors, and when word came that Duff had criticized Lavigne’s own lack of respect for her fans, the surly Canadian promptly lashed out. “If she doesn’t shut her mouth,” Lavigne said, “then I’ll shut it for her.”

Hilary, of course, was immediately repentant. “I really didn’t mean to offend Avril at all, but when I did, she hit back by calling me a goody-goody, and said that I’m all smiles.” She shrugs and blushes slightly. “Okay, I guess I’m fine with that. I am a happy person, and I do smile a lot. But just because I don’t go out and party like other young Hollywood types and stay out until 5 o’clock in the morning, doesn’t necessarily mean I’m a goody-goody, does it?

“It’s not like I stay home knitting, you know…”


While she refuses to apologize for her Little House on the Prairie image, Hilary is nevertheless growing up and increasingly keen to leave behind the persona that made her so famous in the first place. Her second album, recorded once again with Lavigne’s former producers, the Matrix, is a clear response to her critics with its amplified snarl, its unexpected reliance upon guitars, and its songs like “Haters,” in which the singer’s real feelings step out from behind the bright showbiz smile.

This new-found aggression is also much in evidence in her live shows. While she’s hardly Karen O, she has never sounded less blonde than on new songs like “The Girl Can Rock,” or, for that matter, her rather bemusing version of The Who’s “My Generation.”

“Well, I’m not going to be singing about lollipops because I no longer relate to lollipops,” she reasons. But neither is she going to be singing about sex. This marks her out as almost unique in a pop world that relies upon lust. Even Lavigne sings about sex, albeit in a manner of avoidance. In a strict maintenance of her wholesome image, Hilary gives the subject a wide berth. Onstage, she remains the anti-Britney, dressed in a high-neck top, jeans and sneakers, and she says she will simply never go there in song.

“No, I don’t do that,” she says, firmly. “My music isn’t forward like that. It’s not sexual the way Britney’s music is sexual. She feels comfortable singing about that, and that’s fine, but I just don’t talk about that kind of stuff, sorry.”

Why not?

“I just don’t.”

Otherwise, Hilary maintains, she is a regular 16 year old.

“And I want the songs I sing to reflect that. Basically, I’m not Lizzie McGuire anymore.”

No, she isn’t, and her mother’s intervention was instrumental in that character’s demise after just three years. Last year, negotiations for Hilary to star in the sequel to the first Lizzie McGuire movie broke down, and along with them all hopes of keeping the TV series alive. Sources claim the deal was effectively tabled as a result of Susan Duff’s demands for a ridiculously inflated pay packet.

“We very much wanted to continue the Lizzie franchise,” Disney’s Production Chief Nina Jacobson said at the time, “but every deal has its tipping point. Unfortunately, that’s the point we reached in the Lizzie negotiations, and we ultimately had to say goodbye.”

Susan’s version of the events differs wildly.

“Sure, I do drive a hard bargain, but all that’s been so wrongly reported,” she says with a sigh. “And how surprising that Disney didn’t want to take the heat, but instead claimed it as all my fault. No, really—how surprising.”

According to Susan, she had demanded—and Disney had agreed to—a $5 million paycheck for Hilary. The problems began, according to Susan, when the studio failed to show her daughter a sufficient amount of respect. That was her tipping point.

“Okay, so I made enemies with Disney,” she says. “But it’s not like I’ve fallen out with the rest of Hollywood. I have perfectly good relationships with a great number of studios, and Hilary’s movie future looks very bright indeed.”

She might be right, because while her most recent offering, the saccharine A Cinderella Story, may have been mauled by critics, it grossed $40 million in just three weeks.

“For some reason,” Susan continues, “there are so many rumors of ugliness surrounding us right now. There must be a lot of jealousy out there. Take this one example: Apparently, we threw a certain actress off a certain red-carpet event recently, but that so did not happen.”

She’s referring to the premiere of Cheaper by the Dozen last year, at which, it was alleged, Hilary flew into a rage when Mean Girls star—and Hilary Duff nemesis—Lindsay Lohan showed up.

“Let’s go off the record here, because I’ve got some things to tell you about that little lady,” Susan says. As she makes the private revelations, her sculpted eyebrows scale her forehead, and her voice rises several octaves.


Two days later, Hilary and her entourage arrive in Hershey, Pennsylvania, to play to 15,000 screaming fans in training bras at the Giant Center. Since we last met, it would appear that mother and daughter have rethought their game plan. Hilary has never previously spoken about Lohan, preferring to maintain a dignified silence. Now, in light of her mother’s candor, she feels it no longer necessary to hold her tongue.

“The thing is, it’s all so childish and immature,” Hilary begins. “This all started because we both dated [pint-sized pop star] Aaron Carter, and she went around telling everybody that I was a horrible person who had stolen her boyfriend. She then got pissed off because I worked with Chad Michael Murray [on Cinderella] after she had worked with him on Freaky Friday. She called him up and said all these awful things about me, which she then repeated to the press. I don’t think I can take it anymore. It’s so hurtful. Sometimes I feel like I really hate her, which is pretty extreme for me, because I don’t hate anybody.”

Here she pauses, and actually measures her breath.

“Sometimes, I really feel like Lizzie McGuire. Her alter ego can say anything she wants while Lizzie can’t, and that’s exactly how I feel. If you accept [Lohan’s version of the story], I’m really jealous of her ’cause she has friends in the industry and likes to go out and party while I stay at home. She’s always trying to spread stories about me, but the funny thing is, I know so many stories about her that I could tell you right now, but I’m not going to, because I don’t think people should know. I don’t want her to get mad at me for telling them. And you know what the funny thing is in all this? I just want us to be friends—that’s all.”

More silence now, a tiny V forming between her eyebrows.

“I’m worried I may have said too much,” she says. “Have I?”

One hour later, Duff is halfway through her show. The Giant Center is alive with hysterical middle-school screaming, and the singer appears to be imbuing the track “Haters” with even more passion than she did in Fairfax two nights previously. Clearly, this is going to become something of an anthem for her.

Post-show, she is all smiles.

“That was so much fun,” she beams. “You know, I do love my job, really I do, despite all the pressures and the stress. I don’t want to become one of those child stars who fades into obscurity the moment they turn 20. I’ve got plans and ambitions, and if anything, I want to become even more famous than I am now. And I am prepared to work for it.”

Work, she confesses, is all she ever does these days. While she has a close circle of friends—girls she grew up with in Los Angeles who visit her on film sets and on tour to keep her company and, as Mom says, “normal”—she can no longer indulge in her favorite passion of shopping because of her endless workload. Having recently graduated from high school after several years of home schooling, she’s entertaining the idea of college but, again, has a career to pursue first, a career, she says, of “amazing opportunities.”

And so while Lizzie McGuire fades into TV history, Duff is growing up and moving on. While she claims to be far too busy for boyfriends, there are currently dark rumors that she is obsessed with one of the Good Charlotte twins. And if this isn’t enough to horrify a fanbase which still knows nothing of tattoos and alienation, she plans to further buck expectation some time next year with a new film, her darkest to date.

“It’s going to be really edgy and tense. I’ll play this really screwed-up girl who shocks everyone with the stuff that comes out of her mouth.”

Hilary Duff swearing?

“Oh, there’ll be plenty of bad language,” she says with a grin.

Later, in one of the venue’s interminable corridors, Susan corners Blender. She makes eye contact, and doesn’t blink. Only after a frozen moment does she permit herself a smile.

“Hey,” she says, “write good things about my daughter, OK?”