There are two ceramic mugs of coffee sitting on this table for two. Beside them, a plastic cup of yuzu soda—translucent, fizzy, sweating under the city’s indifferent humidity. Edward Russell has chosen both—one hot and bitter, the other, cold and sweet. I can’t remember ever sharing coffee with someone who drinks two things at once, but the thought slips away as quickly as it comes. Our conversation pulls me back in. My coffee has cooled down enough, I take a sip of it and lean forward.
“Approaching people on the street who are just standing around and saying, ‘Hey, what are you here for? Which athletes are you here to see?’—that, to me, is scarier than interviewing celebrities,” says Russell. “They can tell you to, like, ‘[Bugger] off,’ or ask, ‘What do you want?’ Or they might just ignore you completely. And I think that’s the worst thing.”
We’re seated outside a cosy Japanese coffee shop, sheltered under the embrace of one of the many faceless buildings in the CBD. Russell is recounting his experience covering the Paris Olympics last year and how, to become a better journalist, he’s had to set aside, batter and swallow his pride—anything to help him stomach the anxiety of interviewing strangers.
I laugh in response, though I don’t know why. I’ve never had to interview someone on the street, and I imagine I’d probably disappear under the pressure of my social anxiety before the words even formed.
“At least with an athlete, there’s that kind of agreed relationship. They have to speak to you; they can’t be too rude about it. They have to give you an answer,” he continues.
Before Russell was a radio presenter at Class 95FM, before he was recognised more for his voice rather than his face, he spent eight years at Fox Sports Asia. The network would fly him to sporting events across the globe to cover tennis, MotoGP, and football. He recalls interviewing Roger Federer at Wimbledon and sets the scene for me, “You’ve just come off the court. You’ve been playing for five hours. The last thing you want to do is sit down and talk to these people, answering the same questions again and again.”
Yet, Federer always showed genuine interest in the sea of journalists interviewing him. Once, he even recommended an Indian restaurant in London to Russell during a brief interview. The next day, when they crossed paths again, Federer followed up with, “How was the restaurant? Did you end up going?” That, Russell says, was his most memorable interview. But, of course, there’s always the other side of the coin.
“There’s such a power differential, right? They are the athlete, and we’re just the little journalists interviewing them,” he tells me. “Some athletes can make you feel very small.”
He remembers Barcelona, 2016. Russell had caught Lewis Hamilton at a bad time after he’d just crashed into his teammate, Nico Rosberg, with whom his relationship was already strained. Hamilton had just stepped off the track, still in his racing suit, helmet in hand, and clearly in no mood to talk. But Russell’s producer kept pushing him to get something—anything—from him.
“It was horrible. He basically just stared at the ground and said, ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’” As an interviewer, Russell still had to do his job and push for that soundbite, an experience he describes as “painful.”
Today, Russell looks relaxed, dressed in a simple white graphic tee and black trousers. He takes a sip of coffee. Edward Russell is many things: an Arsenal fan. A University of Western Australia alumnus with majors in marketing, management, HR, French and European studies, and a postgraduate degree in English and European Film Studies (try saying all that in one breath). An F1 enthusiast. A massive Swiftie. A lover of classic European films—Jean-Pierre Melville’s Le Samouraï and Jean-Luc Godard’s À Bout de Souffle, to be precise. But at his core, he is an introvert.
“Back in school, I was always the wallflower at the back of the class; never wanting to volunteer or raise my hand,” says Russell. “I mean, I still am an introvert, but I think I can now be an extrovert when I need to be.”
That’s interesting, I never would have guessed you were an introvert based on the things I’ve seen.
“I feel like most people are, you know. It’s a bit exhausting to be a full-on extrovert all the time. Not that it becomes an act, but I think you have to reserve some of your energy.”
His job depends on him talking, and it’s obvious in the way he carries himself—his multi-layered accent and mannerisms—all seem to suggest someone at ease with attention. But I started to wonder how he ended up here, in this life of microphones and interviews.
“I was probably five or six, and I remember I used to have two boom boxes with cassette recorders. I’d talk a bit and then play songs from another one,” he explains. “Those tapes must be somewhere, I don’t know where, though.”
He finishes the last of his coffee, setting the mug down before reaching for the yuzu soda. The ice has melted, thin streams of condensation trailing down the plastic cup. I watch as he takes a slow sip. In my time as a writer, I’ve been fortunate enough to interview many people, each with their own stories to tell. But my experience pales in comparison to the man sitting across from me. So, from one interviewer to another, I had to ask, “What’s one thing you’ve always wanted to be asked?”
He pauses, long enough for me to question whether I should’ve asked him that at all. Then he laughs, “I didn’t think of an answer to this question.” But even as he says this, his instincts kick in, and he turns it back on me. “I don’t know—what’s something you always ask your interviewees?”
I tell him I ask about what their definition of success is. It’s a litmus test, I say, for seeing where someone is at their lives, their level of maturity, their dreams, their motivations—their purpose in this life.
For Russell, his definition of success has shifted with age. When he was younger and eager to make his mark, financial success and accomplishments were his signifiers of success. He had felt the need to broadcast the people he’d interviewed or the places he’d been on Instagram as much as possible to gain any sort of recognition. “It was more about external gratification than internal gratification.”
“Now, I think it’s more about contentment. I mean, hey, more money would be great, but enjoying what you’re doing, adopting a que sera sera attitude, going to sleep knowing you’re doing your best is quite fulfilling. It means fewer doubts and less worry,” he tells me. “I think this is a sign that I’m getting old.” “Haha, what about when you’re older? Do you ever see yourself stepping away from the spotlight?” I ask.
He considers the question. “Right now, I enjoy what I’m doing too much,” he says. “But I do think eventually I could go into consultancy or mentoring in this industry.”
When Russell first stepped into this world, wide-eyed and unsure, the industry felt like a labyrinth. In a field where competition is relentless, seeking guidance from seasoned professionals often felt futile—mentorship was scarce, and advice was guarded like currency. He hopes to be the person he once searched for somewhere down the line, to help others navigate the same uncertain paths he once walked.
“Or it would be really cool to be, like, a head of production for the Premier League or something,” he adds, smiling. “Yeah, I don’t even know how to get that job, though.”
Russell might not know the secret to wriggling into the Premier League, but he knows his craft inside and out. He’s been in the trenches, learnt the rhythms, and earned his stripes.
I glance at my phone to confirm the voice memo app is still recording—40 minutes. The number catches me off guard; conversations this long are usually reserved for cover stories, the kind that demand depth and deliberate effort. But I know it’s time to bring things to a close.
“If you could give your younger self one piece of advice,” I ask, “what would it be?”
Russell considers this, then finally: “Don’t worry too much about what other people will think of you. I think a big mistake people can make is trying to adapt themselves to what they think others want or like. At the end of the day, if you do that, you’re going to have a very limited shelf life because people’s preferences change, and you can’t always put on that act.
“You just need to have belief in your abilities and stay true to yourself.”
He takes the last sips of his yuzu soda, the cup leaving fresh rings of condensation on the wooden table with each lift. Looking at the empty mug and plastic cup in front of Russell, it suddenly strikes me—his decision to order two beverages so aptly mirrors who he is. And who he is, is someone with an appetite for the new, the next—someone who has an insatiable need to feed his curiosity.
Photography: Shawn Paul Tan
Styling: Asri Jasman
Grooming: Vic Hwang using NARS and KMS HAIR
Photography Assistant: Chay Wei Kang
Styling Assistant: Erica Zheng
