These days, or at least since the 1970s, we have been told that it is okay for people to cry – including men. I think that was the start of all that New Man business. Let it all out: don’t bottle up your feelings, all the people who are supposed to know what they are talking about have been telling us. I wish that had never happened. I happen to think that crying is one of the more grotesque human bodily functions – contorted faces making foul noises and leaking fluids from eyes, nostrils and mouth – in adults: in small children it is understandable, no matter how annoying. And before you jump down my throat, yes, even in adults it is permissible. Grief, for example, and genuine excesses of joy, and even when you laugh so much you segue into tears. That is probably what crying is for.
But not for most of the myriad reasons that people have been disposed to cry for in public, and there does seem to be an awful lot of that about these days. In reality shows they seem very prone to it. You can’t switch on a reality show of any kind without watching some nonentity blubbering away. Okay, yes, I understand that if you have undergone a huge struggle and won a million dollars, then the emotion might make you cry. But I won’t accept it if you lose. Two examples stick in my mind, both of them from Bravo shows. A couple of weeks ago a contestant was eliminated from Project Runway. Okay, like everyone else in the competition except the eventual winner, he will just pick up his normal life where he left off. There is no penalty for not coming first. Bravo TV executives don’t slaughter the firstborn of losing contestants, or take way their houses or make them bankrupt. But one wimpy twit, in his bit to camera after being eliminated, was sobbing away like an overindulged child. He wasn’t good enough to win, so they chucked him out, and he snivelled and sobbed, and carried on as though the world had ended – I recall that he was particularly devastated because some of the judges had made a few sharply critical remarks about his designs. What a moron!
I can also remember a contestant in one of the past seasons of Top Chef who was eliminated about three quarters of the way through the competition. A few apposite comments would have been appropriate, and maybe a word of congratulation for those who were left in the contest. But nooooooooo….. This puffed up thirty-something turned on the waterworks and blubbed his way through a self-centred bit of drivel where he told us how devastated he was, how he couldn’t bear being eliminated, and how basically his life was ruined, until he dissolved, it seemed, into a blob of tears and mucus. I wanted to hit him. It’s just a TV show, you arse!
Let’s put this into a little perspective. A week or so ago I was watching a documentary about the Holocaust. A woman, remarkably self-contained considering what she was telling us, described how she had endured two years in Auschwitz, experiencing suffering that is beyond the ability of most of us even to understand, and had survived the war, even though all the other members of her family and most of her friends had been killed. As she told us this, her eyes watered, and she swept away a tear or two with her handkerchief. That is crying that is totally understandable, and one wouldn’t have batted an eyelid of she had cried even more for she was feeling grief that is almost insupportable. As one watched one understood, one sympathised, one wished her nothing but good. There are levels of sadness, and hers was the deepest. That is the sort of thing that the safety-valve of crying is intended for – not for spoiled, selfish, grotesque idiots who throw aside all control and make disgusting, self-indulgent spectacles of themselves. On a sadness scale of one to ten, being kicked off a reality show comes in at about minus eight.
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