lucy lawless

Lucy Lawless and the Fine Art of Global Iconoclasm
by “Roving” Rodrigo Valdez, filed from the last decent bar in Auckland that still serves journalists on expense accounts

Auckland—Somewhere between the 1998 Asian financial crisis and the 2023 global polycrisis, the planet decided it needed a six-foot Kiwi warrior princess to explain the concept of moral ambiguity to it. Enter Lucy Lawless—part actress, part activist, part walking geopolitical metaphor with cheekbones sharp enough to slice through the hypocrisy of three hemispheres at once.

Lawless, born Lucille Frances Ryan in the cradle of Middle-earth (Mount Albert, New Zealand, population: sheep), first rode onto international screens as Xena in 1995. The show was syndicated to 108 countries, which is roughly the number of conflicting opinions the UN Security Council can produce before lunch. While Washington debated whether to bomb something, Berlin argued over interest rates, and Tokyo wondered if anime had peaked, Lawless was roundhouse-kicking gender norms across 42 languages and collecting Nielsen ratings the way hedge funds collect misery.

The global implications were immediate. In Turkey, lawmakers cited Xena’s “subtext” as evidence of Western moral decay. In Brazil, bootleg VHS tapes outsold the national football league’s merchandise for one glorious fiscal quarter. Meanwhile, in the American Midwest, suburban parents formed prayer circles against “the lesbian agenda,” apparently unaware that the agenda was mostly just better fight choreography and a superior leather budget.

Fast-forward to 2024, and Lawless has pivoted from fictional warrior to real-world irritant—those in power would say “activist,” but let’s be honest, the powerful always rebrand inconvenience. She spent nine days on an oil-drilling ship in the Arctic, delaying exploration long enough for the share price of Shell to dip 0.3 percent. In the grand casino of global markets, that’s pocket change, but in the moral economy it was a masterclass. New Zealand’s prime minister called her “a national treasure,” which is Kiwi for “please stop handcuffing yourself to our GDP.”

The broader significance? Lawless is the rare celebrity who weaponizes visibility without becoming a lifestyle brand. While other stars launch tequila labels or NFT collections, she launches herself at fossil-fuel executives with the serene confidence of someone who knows the camera is rolling and the internet never forgets. In a world where COP summits produce more carbon from private jets than they offset, her carbon footprint is mostly the rubber on her protest boots—purchased second-hand, because sustainability is sexier than a Gulfstream G650.

Yet the cynic in me—nurtured on lukewarm hotel coffee and press-release lies—notes that even rebellion can be monetized. Disney+ is reportedly developing a Xena reboot, presumably so another generation can binge moral complexity between Doritos ads. Lawless herself jokes that if the cheque is big enough she’ll cameo, “but only if the costume is recycled plastic and the writers’ room is 50 percent non-binary dolphins.” The gag lands because we all know the planet will be majority ocean soon anyway.

Still, there’s something deliciously ironic about a woman who once battled Greek gods now battling Greek shipping magnates—both sets of characters convinced of their own immortality, both equally unprepared for a New Zealander with a Twitter account and a conscience. In Ukraine, soldiers paint Xena’s chakram on their helmets; in Chile, feminist collectives screen episodes before organizing against copper mines. Somewhere in Brussels, an EU policy wonk has a laminated photo of Lawless taped above his monitor like a secular icon. He calls it “motivation”; his therapist calls it “a cry for help.”

Conclusion: Lucy Lawless remains the rare public figure whose mythology transcends borders precisely because she refuses to stay inside them. Whether delaying Arctic drilling, roasting billionaires on late-night television, or simply reminding the world that ethical courage is not a regional dialect, she operates like a human pop-up ad for accountability. And in an era when most pop-ups sell erectile-dysfunction pills or crypto scams, a little accountability feels almost subversive—like finding a conscience in your spam folder and realizing it’s not a phishing attempt. The planet may still be burning, but at least one former Warrior Princess is using the flames to light a very expensive cigar in the faces of those who lit the match.