Why Lawrence Zarian Almost Didn't Make It—and How He Turned It Around
Lawrence Zarian opens up like never before about his battle with addiction, his path to sobriety, and his journey toward self-acceptance. In this powerful Soberness episode, Lawrence shares emotional stories about surviving cocaine and alcohol addiction, embracing his identity as a gay man, and how nearly dying became the turning point that saved his life.
TRANSCRIPT
00:00 - Intro: Dark Days and Addiction
Producer (off):
We’re rolling, we’re rolling.
Cat:
Okay.
Producer (off):
Sorry—we were just talking about coke.
Cat:
Listen, it’s what you do as somebody who’s sober. Why not talk about it?
01:00 - Cocaine, Alcohol, and the Cost of Sobriety
Producer (off):
Right? We can’t do it. I mean, we could do it—and that’s really the crux of the biscuit. We could, but we choose not to.
Cat:
And we’d lose everything.
Producer (off):
We lose—
Cat:
—everything. Not worth it.
Cat:
Okay, so: I’ve made a commitment to myself and to the audience to start properly introducing our segments. I tend to—like we just almost did—start in the middle of a conversation, and it’s not fair to the people listening.
You’re invited to a great little party—and here it is. And we’re the party. Thank you for coming. We’ve only just met. This is Lawrence Zarian.
Lawrence:
Zarian. Armenian father, German mother.
Cat:
Interesting combo. Okay, this is a guy dedicated to beauty. I know this because he has a clothing line on QVC—
Lawrence:
—called Beautiful by Lawrence Zarian.
Cat:
You have a podcast called You Are Beautiful, and you’ve been a regular on everything—Kelly Clarkson, Kelly Ripa—you just make your way around. Rachel Ray, Steve Harvey…
Lawrence:
Here’s the thing: you are your history. And I always believe God moves us like chess pieces—“I’m going to move you here, I’m going to move you there.” I’ve been moved to all these wonderful shows to do makeovers and transformations because God has me here to help women look and feel—feel beautiful, feel better, feel attractive, feel seen, feel wanted. All of it.
Cat:
How did you realize that was your calling?
03:00 - Lawrence’s Journey to TV and Fashion
Lawrence:
First, I’m thrilled to meet you. I’ve been a fan for so long—I love what you’ve created and who you are. When I got the call to be part of this, I thought, “Again, I’m being moved where I’m meant to be.” I’ll do this quickly.
I have an identical twin brother named Gregory. I’m seven minutes older. When you have an identical twin, you’re born with a best friend—ride or die, everything. And under that same umbrella, you’re constantly being compared. We call it the twin freak show because we’re both in the business. He started as a model; I was the actor. Then we modeled together; then I became the actor and he the model. We kept changing hats.
Gregory is a perfect sample size—40 regular. I’m the bigger twin: 42 long. Identical, seven minutes older—the bigger twin. I didn’t fit the clothes. We’d go to castings; I’d put on sample sizes and never book it. Gregory booked show after show. I always thought people didn’t like me. I didn’t realize until later I didn’t get the job because I didn’t fit—pun intended. So I always share this: if you don’t get the job, it’s because it’s not the right fit.
I’d modeled, done some work, been to Milan. Back in L.A. I thought, “What do I want to do when I grow up?” I noticed a lot of people talking about fashion who didn’t look the part. I had modeled. So I pitched myself to a producer: “What if I do a fashion segment? I just came back from Italy and New York.” She said, “What would it look like?” I hadn’t thought that far. “What if I show women how to dress from the men’s side of the wardrobe?” Men’s oversized dress shirt. Boyfriend blazer. Get his cardigan. She kept asking questions—I pulled it out of my hat.
Here’s the thing: I had a girlfriend for a long time—Sherry. We’d shop together. I’d sit outside the dressing room and not only make her feel beautiful—tell her what worked, what didn’t—I made other women feel it too: “Get those pants. Get that shirt.” I learned it from my mom—I’ll get to that. I pitched myself, answered all the questions, and my career was born. I picked up the phone and got myself on every show I was on. I fought for myself because I knew I had something nobody else had to offer.
07:00 - Growing Up with a Twin and Always Being Compared
I’m a twin; nobody has my story, my history. And again, back to God: He has me here to grab a woman’s hand when she looks in the mirror. We always see what we don’t like—it’s human nature. If I can grab your hand and tell you “You matter. You are seen. Look at your eyes. Look how they dance. Look at your beautiful shape. Oh, you’re a 16/18? Did you know the average American woman is a 14/16?” I gave women gifts they couldn’t see. That’s why I’m here. That’s my career.
Cat:
It’s amazing. Many people spend their whole lives trying to live out their spark. You came out with it on the spot.
Lawrence:
Mind you, it’s been tough. There were dark days—that’s where my addiction comes in.
Cat:
All right—tell us a story.
Lawrence:
I started drinking at 14. My mother, sweet Doris, died of this disease at 58. She was a child of World War II, a devastating first marriage, ravages of war—born with all of that. Of course you’re going to drink. Then she met my dad, born in a third-world country. His father—my grandfather—was an alcoholic. I was born with this ism in my bloodstream. It’s an allergy. By the grace of God and a 12-step program, I’ve been sober almost 20 years.
At 14, my older brother had a birthday party. I wasn’t part of it. I went to the back of the oak bar, poured Bacardi. Something changed. It went down—kind, comforting. My energy changed. I changed—for the better. I got “sober drunk.” The party became about me. I realized: I feel better; the feelings are gone; I get attention.
Cat:
So you drank from 14 until—
Lawrence:
—until I got sober at 41. I’m going to be 60 on May 19.
Cat:
What happened at 40 that told you it was time to stop?
10:00 - How Body Image Shaped His Career and Confidence
Lawrence:
I was going to die. I’d just bought a house. My dad was into real estate—“Buy a house, buy a house.” He’d make me save for the down payment. I finally did—beautiful place in Los Feliz, old-Hollywood vibes. Buying a house is a big fucking deal. I emptied my savings, had an anxiety attack, nervous breakdown, midlife crisis. I’d done cocaine here and there—it was never my main issue. I was a solid drinker. There were blackouts. The fact I’m not dead is a gift of God.
Cat:
Take a minute—for the drinking and driving. Give thanks that we didn’t hurt anybody else. That would be the worst. Thank you, God—or whatever you believe in—for keeping everyone else safe when our stupid asses got behind the wheel.
Lawrence:
Yeah. I used to follow Gregory home—both of us driving. The fact that we’re alive, and there’s no wreckage of our past with somebody’s life…
Cat:
We are so blessed because we didn’t hurt anybody else.
Both:
Cheers.
Lawrence:
Cocaine came into my life. As an addict with addictive behavior, I went from one line to grams. It was dark, painful—and I loved it. Let me say this: in my cocaine days, it was the event of it. Call the dealer. Where are we meeting? The whole setup. Same with the martini: Grey Goose up, cold, dry—freezer, ice, shake. The celebration of the moment.
My career is the same: find the person, hair salon—cut, color—dress, undergarments, shoes, makeup—leading up to the big reveal. Everything in my life is the big reveal. It’s not the high of the drink or the cocaine—though I loved it—it’s the jonesing for the moment. That’s the thread through all of it. And I got reckless. I had two bottoms. The first time, I thought I was going to die. The second time, I really thought I was dying.
By God’s grace, I’m here. I went to—what I call—camp. A facility to help me get on a better path.
Cat:
How did you go from “second bottom” to crossing the threshold? Did someone—
Lawrence:
My last night drinking and using: I was at home. I’d already had one bottom and had called Gregory: “Come get me, I’m going to die.” A month later, I’m in the same place. Body shutting down. I’m at the computer with a shitload of cocaine in front of me, and I’m googling: “What happens if you mix cocaine with alcohol and a jacuzzi?” Because I had a jacuzzi. Also, when I was drinking and doing drugs, I became very sexual. So: in my body—cocaine, alcohol, and a man’s jacuzzi. Everything I read: heart attack, stroke, death.
I chose the cocaine over my life—that’s when I knew I was in trouble. My body shut down. God stepped in. I couldn’t walk; my vertebrae—awful. I called Gregory and my best friend Sherry—my ex. “I’m going to die unless you come save me.” They came. That was Sunday. I knew I had to go to rehab, but I didn’t know what to do. Wednesday night, Gregory and I are at dinner at The Grove in L.A.—Italian restaurant—talking about my addiction. At the time I was a correspondent on Extra. Career taking off.
Cat:
You didn’t want to go to rehab—you’re at the height of it.
Lawrence:
Didn’t want to. In my delusion—addiction brings delusion, ego, narcissism—I said to Gregory, “If I go to rehab, I’ll be recognized. Celebrities will be there. If they see me, they’ll think I’m going to interview them. How do you put a celebrity in rehab?” I wasn’t a celebrity—I just had a TV job. We’re drinking, smoking—addicts—two drinks in. Two girls sit next to us; I’m drunk, sloppy-charming: “Hi, I’m Lawrence, I’m on Extra; this is my twin.” They’re polite; they don’t care.
An hour later, I’m three drinks in. A man sits down, hugs them. “Hey, I’m Lawrence, I’m on Extra.” What do you do? He won’t say. “What’s your name?” “Steve.” I keep going. I order another drink: “Steve, can I get you a drink?” “No, I don’t drink.” “Steve, what the fuck do you do?” We’re at The Grove—hundreds of people—and this man sits right there. Finally he says, “What do you think?” Then: “I put celebrities in rehab.”
I went upstairs to the bathroom, came back down: “I’m dying. I need you to save my life.” That Friday, I went to camp. Since that moment, by God’s grace, sober—through a 12-step program that works for me and has saved my life. My life has been spot-checked by all of that. For me to drink or use is to look at God and say, “fuck off.”
I hear people share their stories. My dear friend Nancy Davis says, “How did you make it? My son didn’t.” How did I? I think that’s why I said yes to you—so I can tell everybody how dark it was. Maybe my story, your story, our story—someone will hear it, and we’ll save a life. Not being grandiose—just, if me being publicly gay, or telling my story, helps someone feel less alone—count me in.
Cat:
Why were you hitting it so hard?
Lawrence:
I didn’t want to be gay. I was discovering myself right when AIDS hit. I remember Connie Chung on CBS: “There is a brand-new disease killing gay men. It’s called HIV/AIDS.” I was 14 or 15. I knew I was different. My dad—born in a third-world country—had a very strong reaction to the gay community then. What we don’t know, we fear. What we can’t relate to turns into anger and hate.
Through sobriety—through me and Gregory (who’s also gay and in a beautiful marriage to John), through leading by example and kindness—my father changed. One of his last words to me was, “I hope you find a beautiful man.” But early on, I couldn’t be gay—especially on TV. “You’re gay, you have AIDS, you will die.” It was awful.
Side note: months ago, Connie Chung was on The Kelly Clarkson Show. I walked into her dressing room: “Can I spend a few minutes with you?” I told her, “At the darkest moment of a teen discovering himself, you held my hand because you gave information. You didn’t judge—you shared and educated.”
On TV, I’d do fashion segments with beautiful women and joke, “She’s so pretty, I’m taking her on a date.” At the time, you could say that. I didn’t want to be gay—but I knew I was. This is not a choice. Who would choose to be gay knowing a huge portion of the world wants you dead? In some countries, they will kill me. You think I’d choose that?
Cat:
There are so many other choices—
Lawrence:
At the end of the day, it’s my life. I’m attracted to men. Why would I choose another life? That’s part of why I went down my road—I couldn’t be myself. Thank God I never needed National Coming Out Day—because I had Gregory. We’re both gay, we’ve both struggled, we’re both sober—what are the chances?
Cat:
Who came out first?
Lawrence:
Out of the womb? I was seven minutes earlier. As for life—we kind of married it together. Gregory had more girlfriends; I had girlfriends—Sherry was my longest. I had a defining moment in Mexico shooting a commercial. We got very drunk. There were two of the most beautiful people—she looked like Brooke Shields; he looked like Brad Pitt in Fight Club. I remember vividly thinking, “Oh, I want him.” I love women—their shape, touch, smell—I like it. But a woman doesn’t want to hear “That’s… all right.” For me, it’s the man. People assume it’s “dad issues.” It’s not. I remember my first tingles—always for men.
Cat:
Did you ever go out with women?
Cat (story):
I tried once in San Francisco. I was excited, ready for the date—“This is it!” End of the night she leans in for a kiss—one of those Jane Fonda in Klute moments. Like, “Oh, my angel.” That was it. Check it off.
Lawrence:
Here’s what I love: you gave it a shot. I can’t tell you how many married men want to hang out. Some of my closest friends are straight. My friend Robert—he’s in a beautiful relationship—calls me his husband; I call him mine. He says, “I just don’t have that vibe with you, but I love you.” So many men are afraid to try. If you feel something for a guy for a minute—who cares? You can still be a man. Why can women explore but men can’t? If you’re not in my bedroom, it’s none of your business.
Lawrence:
Back to Mexico: I stayed with Sherry. My last night with her—we were in New York seeing a Broadway show—she gave me wings to fly. Literal angel wings. She’s my angel. I had realized there was something more. I told her early, “I think I’m bisexual.” I was afraid to bite the bullet. When we broke up, she had my back—didn’t tell anyone I was gay. It was my journey. Then I met a guy. I moved to New York for my first boyfriend, Hugh—big Broadway star—first love of my life. Later, he moved into a relationship with a woman. Sliding doors. We’re all seekers. When you stop seeking, you stop living.
I moved here at 30, fully embraced my sexuality—but on camera I couldn’t say it. Producers would look at me like, “Mmm.” My producer at Live with Regis and Kathie Lee—and later with Kelly—would give me that look. I still talk to Marianne; I call her Mom. I love moms. Women run this world—they’re nurturers. The irony: men are born through women. Yet so many men struggle to give women power. A strong man knows a strong woman and has no problem with it.
I was taught: open the door for a woman, stand when she walks in. My nephews try to walk out of the elevator first—absolutely not. Ladies go first. Why can we have chivalry, but when it comes to politics, career, voice, so many men feel emasculated by women? You’re only as good as the people you surround yourself with. A strong man has a stronger woman.
For a man who fights so hard to be a man—like, who cares? I’ll be careful here. My father was a very respected Republican—mayor of Glendale, California—councilmember for 16 years, four terms as mayor. When he passed, the flag at the state capitol was at half-mast. I voted Republican until I was 30, then leaned Democrat. I feel there’s room for every voice. My father said, “I stand by my party—give me a reason to listen and learn.”
My favorite color in fashion is gray—live in the gray and you see all the shades: dark, light, dove, agate. Stay in the middle. It’s not black or white. Our world is built on the colors of the rainbow. Stop telling me being gay is a sin. Stop telling me I belong in hell. What was it like when you were born straight and white? It’s how you were born.
That’s why I’m proud of my sobriety, my story—being gay, all of it. This is me officially being invited back.
Cat (aside):
There’s a woman in the corner right now—
Lawrence:
I see her. I haven’t looked once. In entertainment, when a publicist taps you: wrap it up. And then there’s me—who doesn’t shut up.
Cat:
Raquel is about to lose her mind.
Lawrence:
Invite me back—part two. Two hours. I can talk.
Cat:
She scares the shit out of me. She’s terrifying. Which is why we love her. And we both love Jennifer Abel.
Cat (wrap):
Okay, can you all shut the fuck up so I can wrap? Thank you so much for coming to Soberness. We’ll see you next time—Lawrence Zarian, part two.
Lawrence:
If you’re struggling with drugs, alcohol—anything—I’m on Instagram @lawrencezarian. There’s a road for you to walk. It might not be my road, but there’s always another solution. If you drink, you will use, and you can die. Don’t die. Stick around. Because we’re fun. It’s a better life. Cheers.
Cat (outro):
That does it for another episode of Soberness. Thank you so much for tuning in. We love making this show for you, but we need you to do something for us. Please—see that subscribe button? Hit it. Just hit subscribe. Oh—wait—you hit it? Good. Now go around your house—get your mother, your dad, your cousin, the babysitter—everybody. We just need you to subscribe. Why? Because we’re so grateful. Thank you so much.