The Horror. The Horror.
For a while now I’ve been disappointed with kids. They’re meant to be shocking. They’re meant to outrage us middle-agers. We’re meant to be half-scared/ half-appalled by them. Right now kids should be up in arms, dressing crazily and behaving badly. But instead what happens? Nothing. It’s a crummy time to be a kid from a low-income background; you won’t get to college, you won’t have a house and you definitely won’t become a celebrity.
Unless of course you’re Justin Bieber, who drives 3% of the world’s entire Twitter traffic and is the most Goggled name on Earth. He’s a singer, of course, because there seems to be no other activity on the planet now that children are interested in, and he’s – well, horrible. No, something far and deeply beyond horrible, like Nazis crossed with beetroot-flavoured yoghurt, a kind of plastic robot spouting rubbish in a feather-cut. Like Donnie Osmond Goes To Hell.
If, like me, this phenomenon entirely passed you by (I don’t have children so how would I have known?) read this ghastly article and feel part of your brain atrophy as you do so. By the end of it, you’ll be offering to fund an assassination organisation.
Then again, why not let the great commercial machine take its course? We’ll watch the ubiquity, the fall, the rehab, the flop films, the career reboot and the obscurity together, safe and glad in the knowledge that we were obscure to start with.
At least kids are shocking again.