I remember the first time I saw Sam Wood. He was stepping out of a flashy European car, dressed sharply, when someone stopped him to ask for a photo. It was a snapshot of the kind of public profile he had built. It looked to me, at the time, like real success.
It’s a funny thing, the way we form impressions of people. Sometimes it takes only a few seconds to decide who someone is and what their life represents. I’ve found myself reflecting this week, amid the allegations surrounding Sam, that that’s clearly part of the problem.
By coincidence, I would soon find myself following in Sam’s footsteps, becoming the fifth Bachelor and meeting him properly along the way. Not long after my season aired, he reached out and offered to catch up if I ever found myself in Melbourne. I appreciated the gesture and took him up on it.
At that point in my life, in my late 20’s, I was searching for a benchmark. Someone who seemed to have figured it all out. Someone whose life I could look at and think, That’s the kind of man I want to be.
At this point, I want it to be very clear, I am not and never have been a close friend of Sam’s. We both went on the same TV show, and as a byproduct of that our paths crossed a handful of times.
But, from the outside, Sam appeared to tick every box. A happy marriage, beautiful children, successful businesses and a reputation as a stand-up bloke. He seemed to represent a particular version of masculinity that was easy to admire.
Our contact after that initial meeting was limited. But my perception of Sam continued to be shaped by the version of himself he shared publicly, particularly on social media. And why wouldn’t it? We live in a world where we’re constantly invited into the lives of people we barely know, until the familiarity of their online presence begins to feel like genuine understanding.
I thought I knew what his life represented. The truth is, like everyone else, I knew very little about the man behind the image.
When I first heard the allegations against Sam, I was shocked.
Charged with assault occasioning bodily harm and strangulation in a domestic setting, the court heard allegations that he pushed his wife Snezana into a wardrobe, grabbed her by the throat, threw her against a wall, smashed her head in the ground, and strangled her, restricting her airway so that her breathing ceased. The prosecution has told the court that Snezana feared for her life. On Thursday, Acting Magistrate Janelle Boegheim refused bail to Sam and his lawyers say he will defend the charges.
I cannot imagine what it must have been like for Snez and her daughters to live that horror.
At the same time, I’m acutely aware of the prevalence of domestic violence in this country, so why was shock my initial response?
In 2024–25, one woman was killed by an intimate partner every 11 days, on average. I know that domestic violence doesn’t discriminate. But I think I’d naively, like so many of us, allowed myself to believe that I could recognise the type of person who might commit such acts of violence.
What makes this so confronting isn’t just the gravity of the allegations. It’s how they contradict the image many of us had mistakenly formed of him. The man I once saw as a benchmark for success has now been charged for a crime that represents the very worst in what men are capable of.
A reminder that perpetrators don’t always look like perpetrators.
Domestic Violence doesn’t care if you look like a stand up guy, it doesn’t care about how much money you have, how successful you are in business, what suburb you live in or what house you own. There are men, all across Australia at all levels of society perpetrating violence in their homes against the people they are supposed to love the most.
I feel ashamed that I once looked up to Sam as someone I wanted to emulate. I feel deeply for Snezana and her children, who are facing trauma I can only begin to imagine. More than anything, I feel for the women who have once again been reminded of the daily fear they’re forced to live in.
As men, we have to do more than simply say we’re against domestic violence. We have to look at ourselves.
If we want a world where women are safer, we need to understand our own internal world – learning to recognise and manage our emotions, questioning what we believe it means to be a man, and challenging the version of masculinity we inherited rather than blindly passing it on.
It means believing that strength isn’t about having power over your partner. That vulnerability isn’t a weakness. That equality in a relationship isn’t something to feel threatened by, but something to strive for. And that anger, jealousy or insecurity can never be used to justify intimidation, control or violence.
It also means being willing to challenge our mates when their behaviour or attitudes cross a line. Not laughing off degrading comments about women. Not excusing controlling behaviour as a relationship issue.
We need to teach our boys that respect isn’t simply about how they treat the women they want to impress. It’s about how they treat women when they’re angry, when they’re rejected, and when they feel powerless.
The measure of a man has never been the car he drives, the money he makes or the image he projects to the world. It is how he treats people, and even more so – how he treats people when no one is watching.
If you or someone you know is affected by family violence, 1800RESPECT (1800 737 732) is available 24/7. In an emergency, call triple zero.