“TThey are helping the King’s enemies, and this … is treason of the worst kind. Their disloyalty towards the country deserves the severest punishment ”. Surprisingly, these are not the words of Priti Patel about the Love Island influencers currently influencing Dubai, but the words of a 1942 Manchester MP on wartime black merchants.
Still, it’s hard not to see similarities between then and now in what politicians thought people wanted to hear about such mockery of massive restrictions. “Public opinion would support long prison terms,” said a deputy in the same Commons debate, “and even the cat [o’nine tails], for the worst offenders. “” Is that all? “asked another deputy.” Put them against the wall; that’s the best way. “
Of particular sadness to the honorable friends, apparently, was the fact that this kind of deception had suddenly made its way from lesser countries to Great Britain, “where we thought such things could never be done.” To which the most periodic response I can offer is: lol do me a favor.
Leaving aside the lovable naivety of wartime politicians, true public opinion about the black market appears to have been far more complex. Had – how to put this in financialese? – a whole market for the black market. Also, whatever the difference between what people said in public and what they did in private, it is notable that the most enduring post-war fictional depictions of black merchants have tended to be lovable rogues or fascinating gangsters rather than detested leeches. and scorned. People have had a soft spot for some of the most shameless and rule-breaking spirits, the Third Man. Harry lime to daddy’s army Private walker. Even when they were still trapped under postwar rationing, the public loved it Passport to Pimlico In fact, the plot of that wildly popular Ealing comedy revolves around British admiration for a small London enclave that had somehow found a way to escape the burden of rationing and restriction. The fictional British population aids and incites them in their battle against government restrictions, gladly throwing food and supplies down the perimeter wire to aid them in their transgressions.
Is this spirit of good luck to them in evidence today, when third-tier reality stars shout “actually IS work” in a ring of light in a Dubai monstrosity built by exploited workers? Your initial feeling is that it is not. It feels hard to imagine a 2025 movie in which British lock-ins resort to ingenious ways to extend influencers’ exposure time while they endure pandemic restrictions themselves.
Certainly, our Home Secretary lives up to her parliamentary forebears by upsetting anyone who is amusing themselves in the wrong way. “We see a lot of influencers on social media,” Patel thundered last week, “showing off where they are in the world.” I enjoy that use of the real us, suggesting that Priti will think about the Home Office mistake. erase police records as soon as you’re done scrolling through 23 influencer feeds and drop the occasional “you make me sick” in the replies. I fear that it is difficult for me to shake off the conviction that, in principle, anything that bothers Priti Patel should be encouraged.
I definitely can’t take the calls to scent salts seriously from those who follow the absent influencers. The revelation that influencers are relatively egotistical people seems to have CONCURRED with their followers, who have apparently been under the impression that they have been hanging from the endorsement of each brand of a Mahatma Gandhis company.
In fact, I actively enjoy morality attacks from people who would kill for a cocktail on the beach, but otherwise settle for threatening to kill the person who has the cocktail on the beach. According to the long-suffering agents of the influencers, we have not yet flattened the curve of death threats that are currently being made. aimed at your customers. On the other hand, I hope there is something that explains how death threats are for the influential economy what money means Gordon gekko – simply a way to keep score.
Still, far from undermining morale, our scattered influencers are arguably bringing the nation together. With so little TV comedy content currently being made, this new genre is a godsend. I loved the fitness blogger who explained to this morning that it was an “essential trip” for her to fly to Dubai to film her exercise routines, especially when it comes to mental health and inspiration for her fans. To all the naysayers who yelled that she only has 11,000 followers, I would tell you that Jesus only had 12, and look at what she built her brand on.
It was even more fun for me to learn that a Towie star had been sneaking up on old pictures of himself in coats and scarves in his Essex backyard, while the whole time his fleshly self was actually in Dubai quietly enjoying the sun. Surely these people add to the joy of the nation.
But obviously none of us want them to join the mutant variants of the nation. And so the quarantine arrangements for his return to these dreary shores, which despite tough talks from the Boris Johnson government have yet to be finalized. Soon, maybe. The main lesson of the pandemic so far is that there is no point in rushing anything.
On the off chance that a decision is made, and given how much influencers care about our health, mental and physical, I know they will understand the need to be transferred in a safe vehicle to a two-star hotel near Heathrow. This is when they go from opening posts with “A lot of people have asked about my skincare regimen” to “A lot of people have asked how this mini kettle is filled in this mini sink, and I’m here to tell you it’s impossible.” This is when we find out that they are “drinking instant Nescafé because there is no filter.” In short, this is when true prime content kicks in, and it would take a heart of stone not to admire it.
• Marina Hyde is a columnist for The Guardian
George is Digismak’s reported cum editor with 13 years of experience in Journalism