Apparently the woman formerly known as Catherine Middleton has breasts.
Shocking, eh? I could scarcely believe it myself but from the feeding frenzy which has accompanied this ‘discovery’ anyone would think that she was the first post-pubescent female to have them rather than being just one amongst several billion.
Quite frankly I really don’t understand what the fuss is about. At some point we’ve all seen someone elses’ boobs – whether they were our mother’s, our partner’s, our girlfriends’, by the pool or on the beach, on the internet, on page 3 or in any other situation. The size varies, the shape changes (even on the same body) and some are more attractive to look at than others but in the long run breasts are breasts. If this is an issue for you then I suspect you have other problems to deal with first.
Where then does the ‘blame’ for this business lie?
According to Anne Diamond on BBC News 24 on Friday morning*, the Duchess of Cambridge has only herself to blame as she dared to bare them somewhere other than behind closed doors with the curtains drawn and the lights off**.
Since this is clearly ridiculous, we need to look further out. Should we therefore blame the Peeping Toms hiding behind their camera a kilometre or so away? They are certainly an easy target but they would say that they are just doing a job – as (at least in my opinion) distasteful as it is.
How then does this come to be a job? If there was no money to be made then it is unlikely that there would be hordes of people with cameras chasing the rich and famous around the world all day and all night.
So where does the money come from? It comes from the publishers of the likes of ‘Closer’, ‘Hello’, ‘OK!’ etc who know that they can make more money selling their glossy, large print magazines containing images of the aforementioned celebrities than it costs to buy the pictures from the photographers in the first place.
Why? Because a significant number of people apparently like to do nothing better than pour over the minutiae of other people’s’ lives and then gossip about it afterwards around the water cooler.
And that, right there, is the crux of the matter. Until our species grows up and stops caring about the private lives of people we will continue to get this sort of thing happening.
I would like to be around when that finally happens – if only to breathe a sigh of relief – but I suspect I’ll be dust long before then.
** Ok, she didn’t mention curtains and lights but the prudish inference certainly was there.