As you will know I don’t make a habit of watching reality TV programs for two reasons they are not ‘real’ and they are not my idea of TV. But I do not live under a rock (as far as I know) so I am aware of Susan Boyle the Britain’s got talent ‘Star’. I am also aware that from the outset she was the ultimate living metaphor to my favourite topic ‘challenging perceptions’. To look at, no one would give this woman the time of day in fact most people would give her a wide birth if they saw her coming towards them at best, and at worst they would mock her with a look or a word. So how sweet it is that when Susan opened her mouth and sung, egos across the land lay gobsmacked and confused, the stability of the world was lost for a few minutes even Simon Cowell appeared to be speechless, sadly (most would say) an effect that only lasted for a few seconds.
Ego’s across the land questioned to themselves this couldn’t be right surely only beautiful people had a right to sing like this. In a world where every person on TV has to be caked in makeup so we don’t have to be repulsed by the reality of a spot or pimple, here was a living embodiment of a character from a Victor Hugo novel before the mass public on Saturday night TV …HD TV’S were not created for this ego’s ranted across the land as they grabbed for another can of lager to dull to pain of another unfulfilled Saturday night.
But despite this Susan Boyle was permitted by the beautiful people to play the game of fame. With the blessing of Simon the patron saint of false dreams, Susan Boyle became the new face on the nations tabloids first in a positive ‘If Susan can do it we all have hope’ kind of way but soon it turned into a woman hunt and the pound of flesh all celebrities in the modern world must pay. Paparazzi routing through gutters and bins to discover what dark secrets Boyle may have…Was she a really a man, a lesbian, a figment of Simon Cowell’s money making imagination who knew but as bastions of the ‘truth?’ they would find out.
To cut a story sort the media delighted in discovering that this lady was flawed in more ways than her looks (which of course we all are) she was less than stable (aren’t we all) and prone to fits of out rage (still most people I know) and just more than a little bit weird (there’s none so queer as folk). Basically the media clapped for joy (behind a guise of needing to bring us the ‘facts’) for they could now put a nations ego’s at rest Susan was not as our ego’s had first thought ‘one of us’ she was just a freak!
Of course nothing could be further from the truth. We are all freaks under layers of failed attempts to fit in and play the game called life. Some people like the models I use to shoot as a photographer, to look the way we would want all people to look but scratch the surface and the flaws are just busting to escape. I’m honest enough to say that if I have to look at a image of a woman I would rather look at Pamela Anderson than Susan Boyle as I would a rose over a nettle but I know that both are as perfect as they are flawed. We are all unique yet the same. We all want love, to be appreciated, adored. Some have a head start because they are wrapped in a thin package of beauty, but the reason we are all so unhappy is because we know the ugliness of our own minds – the ranting of our egos.
Susan Boyle is now in care at an exclusive clinic after an ‘emotional breakdown’. I would say that her minds or bodies reactions was perfectly normal when you consider what it has had to endure over the past weeks. I can not say what will become of this play thing of a media that doesn’t’ care. I hope that just as she stood for a few seconds all of us that don’t fit in but would like to , she will stand as a warning to us that if that is ‘fitting in’ or ‘making it’ ..you can keep it .
As those women that meet the medias physical grade (the pussycat dolls) said with great wisdom in one of there song’
‘be careful of what you wish for you might just get …you might just get it.’
Fame that is offered by today’s TV is far uglier than the most twisted mind could imagine. It offers nothing more to it’s victor than a poisoned chalice .
There are no better lives, only different ones.