Oversharing is Caring
Social media has blurred and crossed so many lines that we are no longer able to completely fence off the outside world from our private one where we let our hair down and engage in secret behaviors that we’re too embarassed to show in public. In the end, that’s what it’s for after all. You get to be you, listen to Nickelback, eat junk food or watch tell-all celebrity reality shows.
Try as you might, you can unplug from social media but not from its real-world counterpart that corners you into submission to the same mind-numbing banality that Hannah Arendt recognized as the root of all things evil. But people aren’t evil per se. Just like they’re not good by default. It’s merely a mixture of character and coincidence that’s the definitive factor.
Oskar Schindler might have never contributed so significantly to history if he hadn’t had been a Nazi. His privileged position enabled him to get away with doing the right thing. Stephen Spielberg was instrumental in spreading his story outside of the narrow world of history books into the open. The director isn’t a Holocaust survivor but he contributed to the global acknowlegment of Oskar Schindler’s undeniable humanitarian legacy.
His story was primarily championed by the so-called Schindler Jews, a group of more than a thousand people that were saved by him in the German death camps. The Holocaust is one of those lessons that can never be overshared because they end up unlearned which we witness on a daily basis even in the most unexpected places which is the very essence of dangerous ideologies. Their social geography is variable, but their core principles always stay the same. The predictability of methodical patterns is no consolation because the initial shock always hits the same vein. The one most exposed to pain.
On the other end of the oversharing spectrum we have countless colorful individuals who fancy themselves as influencers with that cherished “includes paid promotion” warning. They create a brand and share their own opinions on everything from skincare to movies and politics. If your social profile is prominent enough, your digital real estate will reach every corner of the virtual universe, dragging in both those who feed on it professionally and personally. After all, celebrity woes sell papers and clickbaits.
The new Netflix documentary series Harry & Meghan is a repacked, restyled and retold version of the same old we’ve been unwillingly witnessing for years now. With the difference that originally it would be an article in the Daily Mirror with six hours worth of comment section filled with vitriol, ridicule and occasionally sympathy for the couple.
Here the two go back to the beginning of their romance with all the selfies, messages, quotes, romantic gestures and it all looks like an another social media feed too good to be true. We get to see photo footage from the wedding reception, elegantly dressed people dancing their shoes off and generally everything you’d expect from a wedding reception minus tacky bridesmaids plus Elton John thrown in for good measure.
Even if you could you’d hardly find anything wrong about the presentation because these two are clearly in love and I’d dare to say most young married couples have the exact same recollections of their special day. Yes, love is slightly kitschy but mostly when it’s someone else’s. Harry likes referring to himself in third person and reminds us he’s “Diana’s boy” just in case we forgot his mother is the most famous English royal of the 20th century. While coping with loss in such an extraordinarily exposed position is hard enough as it is, it can lead to deeper troubles that sooner or later find a way out.
This is one of the rare parts where you get your money’s worth because he sincerely adresses his mistakes that have made headlines before, like nightlife antics and a dubious taste for Halloween costumes to say the least. He puts a lot of emphasis on mental health and media that tries to squeeze out anything they can for a quick buck.
There are flashbacks to childhood photo-ops, video diaries, behind-the-scenes of their daily life. The chicken in their shed probably lay golden eggs. Or at least I hope they do because if their primary bread and butter is this, there’ll sooner or later come a point when everyone is tired of Harry’s satellite court in California.
Susan Hussey’s sacking proved that it’s possible to make the Prince of Wales jump over the “no comment” hurdle he dilligently sticks to. Meghan is the exact opposite, she doesn’t hold back tears when she talks about harassment and racism. The whole melodrama can easily make you forget that it is still a real issue in English high society. What makes it difficult to digest is its style.
Netflix turned a potentially interesting contribution about media ethics and mental health into a telenovela about a knight in shining armor and his sad princess. But there’s a limit to how much you can handle before gag reflex reaches its breaking point. The docuseries is a good test. It makes you feel like a fly on the wall in a church confession booth where a maiden in distress kneels in a puddle of her own tears, repentant for her sins.
If these two can be accused of a sin, it’s oversharing. I’ve already had enough and his memoir has yet to come out. The whole celebrity memoir industry benefits only ghostwriters, since we’re flooded with books about people whose achievements are rarely intellectual in terms of weight.
Even Pamela Anderson and Paris Hilton have one. He is willfully feeding the beast that drove him away from home and his family. They might defend it as doing things on their own terms but it doesn’t change the size of the output and makes me reconsider my streaming subscription. If the new stars of Netflix truly are rebels with a cause, they might be overestimating their wattage.
It’s hillariously illustrated by Harry’s reaction to Beyonce’s message of support. Simultaneously silly and revealing because it slowly dawns on them that at least in Hollywood their titles are as serious as Goop’s vagina candle and the court is somewhere else. This is why Spitting Image hit the right nerve with their brilliant parody, exacerbating all the irritating traits and funny details. Even more so because in the docuseries, everything is pitch-perfect from the touching music to the black and white photography and subtle hints of luxury like a Hermes throw on a sofa.
The fact that it’s so carefully produced and executed makes their troubles sound deliberately overexxagerated to add more drama as if there wasn’t enough already. So they keep reflecting on their lives until Meghan decides to read her wedding speech. And then my gag reflex finally breaks and my breakfast hits the floor. If you’re interested in the eponymous couple, this will be, quite appropriately, your cup of tea. If you couldn’t care less it might sound like one of those annoying couples at baby showers that can’t stop bragging about their own children.
Originally a considerable part of the attraction of royalty was the mystery around it. All those shiny things hidden behind thick walls, antique furniture and dusty chandeliers, footmen and chambermaids. One could only guess what was going on inside. Then came the 1990s and the tabloids became windows allowing us a closer look into high society. They were thus unmasked as families full of spoiled, dubious individuals out of touch with reality. The new docuseries is the apex of this obsession.
A wealthy, good-looking couple with serious aristocratic credentials and the People’s Princess in a photo frame at which their baby is staring in bewilderment. Impressive? Yes. It’s Netflix after all. Surprising? Hardly. Unless there’s serious backlash from the Court in London, there’s hardly anything more to add to this soap opera. In the meantime, I suggest you switch to The Crown for a classier version of English royalty. Because right now, what we’re served in reality instead is almost tedious in comparison.
