Fake or real – we own a bit of both

WHAT is fake, what is real and what is the truth?

Recently we had the President of the United States storm Europe, alienate US allies, visually obliterate the Queen and play footsie with the Russians. When everyone got excited, he switched tac, attempted to gaslight us in the name of semantics, and then told us he had put it to Putin. He would, wouldn’t he!

So, what’s the fake part and what’s the real part? The man-child leader of the free world licking the boots of the Russian premier or the man-child leader licking up his own mess in the eyes of the world?

Speaking of “licking” and the rest of it, I jump to Love Island which is not a jump at all but rather a measured step because what went on in Love Island is not unrelated to what is going on in the world. Love Island is an easy thing to diss and I am not about to defend the Machiavellian mechanics behind it or the deep drifts of banality in it.

To the un-initiated, Love Island is soft porn, self-obsession and everything that is bad about generation z. However, for those of us who lasted the pace (and I did), it surprised me. Whether you care or not, it condensed and synopsised the dynamics of relationships, politics and human nature. The visual of the thing is the fake part and all that is cliché about reality tv.

The “real” reality lies elsewhere; if what we are watching is contrived, manipulated or manufactured is kind of irrelevant to me. What was relevant was the conversations it kickstarted, the conversations with my own generation z on topics that normally are too easy to avoid, ignore and deny.

Those conversations are real and that connection is true.

What was real too, was my stint as a steward at a recent festival; a festival that largely plays host to the aforementioned generation z.

Kids too young to dress they way they dress, too young to drink they way they drink and too intelligent to act so senselessly.

That was my impression on seeing them arrive. But, of course, the “prinking” culture makes fakes of the reality and a farce of the truth.

Because, ironically, during the concerts they sober up. So that on emergence, I meet just kids; kids who throw jackets over their shoulders because the cold had seeped in, kids who asked for directions with the manners of royalty and kids who were lost and just wanted mammy.

Real too were their parents, waiting, searching torn between guilt and relief on sight of their young, living their young lives.

So, what is fake and what is real? I think we might all own a bit of both. More important however is the truth of us, the discovery of which takes time and patience.

But in a world that runs too fast and camouflages too well, our truth gets lost and often forgotten.

And that is reality.