Did you ice ball me 25 years ago? Twat. If I may momentarily refresh your mushy pea sized memory, I was the nerdy shy geek with afro style hair and bushy eyebrows to match. Think a blend of Erykah Badu and Eugene Levy and you get the picture loud and in HDTV crystal clearness. But it was only by default I achieved this silver plated spoon in mouth look. Assisted by my parents insistence, I sport the comprehensive school’s non-compulsory uniform and coupled with my year round glow, I majestically managed to fit this Lord Fauntleroy esq. description and to stick out, like an Ivy league educated person would at a TOWIE press junket. To perfection. Cheers all involved.
So with my shyness confused by the other kids as aloofness and my year round glow achieved by my being afflicted with psoriasis since the age of twelve, Spotty, aka moi, became the victim of ice balling amongst my other angst’s. These annoyances continued until my folks, aka Super Ted, promptly extracted me from the aforementioned school and replanted me elsewhere. Amen and onwards.
With this chapter of my life well and truly buried like Katie Price’s career may well soon be if she continues getting remarried, those same, now prehistoric tears, once again welled up in my eyes when I recently read the comments written about Kim Kardashian who discovered she also has psoriasis.
And it was these brutal, harsh, unsympathetic and insensitive comments that inspired this blog. So grab yourself a beverage and allow it to quench any preconceptions. Bring frothy forth your open mindedness and let’s begin. First up with my exploration of all things Kardashian and the revelation, I now have something in common with this marketing goddess, aside from derriere size. Check.
I enjoy watching and reading about Kim Kardashian. She’s my most accessible form of escapism, post Pierce and is my quintessential wallpaper style TV show. Ideal background noise. Cutsie Kim, heads up the obnoxiously glamorous lifestyle of this loving family and let’s face it, for 95% of us, our only chance of ever leading a similar life will be via osmosis, through our TV sets. While she or her life may not float your boat, the undeniable facts are she’s gorgeous, rich, happily engaged to a man who seems to adore her enough to want to spend the rest of their life together and surrounded by a loving family. You go girl! But is, you go girl, your first thought?
My instinct is to the contrary. If we tear back the truth layers of our personal millefeuille why do we prefer the underdog? Those we feel we have a competitive advantage over in some form or another, be it looks,intellect, finances or career position. There I said it. Why is it some of us seem to buzz from others misery, problems and dramas. I’ve run a test with some of my acquaintances and watched them glaze over as I share my cup half full lifestyle and the minute I pepper it with some tragedy or misery they visibly perk up. Note to these people: that’ll be why you don’t get a call back. Big Brother and TOWIE are ratings winners as we can relate to these individuals featured. Their lumps, bumps, issues and dramas are palatable to the majority of us. We look in our mirrors at home and can empathise. Why? Because we’re better god damn it. Our conversations are more sensible, our responses more intelligent, our lives more organised. Init.
God we’re so pious. But relax in your slacks, t’is difficult being so perfect and superior, but by golly, we managed to achieve it vs. the TOWIE, BB lot. We get them and by jove, we’re even better than them. Times infinitum. Or are we?
So in stark contrast, how does the posh TOWIE fare with you? The dream team from E4’s show, Made in Chelsea. How does watching this lot make you feel? Do you regularly tune in to watch these gorgeous, glossy gazelle types swanning around on yachts and yawning while the rest of us are frantically multi tasking and making ends meet? Judging by poor and sliding viewing figures, I’d propose we’re not loving this lot so much. Cretins. Is this how you might describe them? The financially and visually elite, not worthy of my attention, energy and most definitely not empathy. Although scratch that surly sentiment, surely Shirley a shrapnel of jealousy may be extended in their direction? Can we offer and spare the jealousy emotion from us lesser mortals to them?
I am sensing your discomfort and have deviated so far from my Kim Kardashian and psoriasis point I have nearly lost the complete sense of this piece. But phew, my ugly, poor, depressed cleaner walked in and now after chatting with him I feel re energised enough to regroup my tawhid thoughts.
This is my point, I hope: The world is a blend of Spotty’s, Super Ted’s and a melting pot of other character types, yet essentially we’re all cut from the same cloth. So some of us are polyester and others a cashmere blend. So what. Noone but ourselves truly know where we’ve come from and where we’re going and on that basis we make judgements and opinions about people that are merely perceptions, illusions, versions of our own reality.
At school, these two kids assumed I was rich, stuck up and ugly so decided to bully me. They couldn’t have been further from my truth. I once dated a chef who commented I was out of his league besides him being super successful, handsome and really quite a sweet, kind man. Quite hilarious had he gotten to know me and realised his perceptions of my life are contrary to it’s reality. You see our DNA structures are all pretty similar, strip us back and we each have the same pieces of kit to keep us alive. (Heart, lungs, and brains). The other bells and whistles (appearance, cash, objects) these are mere by products of our life and existence and don’t (well shouldn’t, unless you’re a narcissist impostor and I’ll save that for another blog) define us as humans, yet we continue to compartmentalize and judge and form opinions on the stuff that really doesn’t matter.
It is our hearts that shape and define us as humans. ABCD as simple as that, no pie charts required to illustrate this point. And even if we don’t have our own heart in place and use a borrowed one, each and everyone of us have one and are blessed.
Remember, even the glossy Kim Kardashian uses the lavatory in the same way you and I do. Hers may be a gold plated loo seat and fragranced with the essences from a long lost tribe from Outer Mongolia, but I guarantee If she was shouted at or criticised unfairly, the tears that may flow, will be made from the same fluid you and I would produce.
Regardless of perceived class, colour, creed, intellect, visual, social and economic status we are one of the same.
So please give the poor, rich, gorgeous and euphorically happy girl a break about her psoriasis. She’s permitted to feel the same range of emotions as you and I do. And deserves the same level of empathy. Unless I was the only one missing the memo listing life’s problems in order of importance and related sympathy/support quotas depending on your perceived social/economic and visual status. Bleugh.
And finally, I want to extend some thanks and gratitude. To those two little ice balling dweebs at my original senior school who have given me the courage to believe one of my most important life lessons: that the opinions of the Super Ted’s in my life, is the only one that truly counts and the rest of you just create a lot of noise! Dismissed.