Like getting a nasty sunburn on the inside

Shame, once common, seems to be almost extinct

You have to love spell-check.

I just typed Viagra and spellcheck automatically capitalized the word for me. I was expecting it to auto-correct to “Niagara.” Yes, I understand that Viagra is a proper noun, like Paris or Advil, but I was surprised spell-check knew this. But it does because erectile dysfunction ads have made Viagra and Cialis household names as common as Jell-o and Band-aid. These other brand names, however, spell-check doesn’t automatically capitalize. Go figure.

I’m familiar with nine-year-olds who know both the Viagra jingle and the condition that has made this proprietary pill into the revenue giant that it is. When I was nine, I didn’t know about function, let alone dysfunction.

Today, celebrity sex tapes don’t besmirch a reputation as much as they lay the foundation for a lucrative career. I imagine miffed, legitimate porn stars discussing retaliation and Real Housewives offer a finishing school of gutter charm. This year’s Sports Illus

trated swimsuit issue begged a new name for the edition; I’ve seen dust bunnies that bore a stronger resemblance to swimsuits than Kate Upton’s red micro-kini.

Unmentionables. Are there any left? Staged wardrobe malfunctions. Rehab couture. Erectile dysfunction ads, with jingles. All of it, top drawer, oven-totable, first date, kiss-your-grandmother, dinner-table conversation. We’ve come so far since money and religion were considered taboo subjects in polite society. Polite society?! Now, there’s a pre-eight-track term.

If it involves extraordinarily poor choices, clear demonstration of lousy character, exhibitionistic tendencies, flat-out moral laxity or misplaced values, it’s front and centre. No shame, no humiliation, no propriety. Place your bets on when the freshly sanitized John Edwards will re-emerge from exile. Is shame still a valid concept today? Do we still even feel shame? And what are the consequences of its absence in our daily life or public forums?

Feeling ashamed is like being badly sunburned from the inside. The only SPF for shame damage is an active and informed conscience. It’s a powerful emotion, shame is. A friend’s grandmother once told me that if you do right by your enemies, they’ll hate you, but they’ll hate themselves even more, which delivers a double whammy to your foe. In the world of accountability, it’s the equivalent of a BOGO event.

Shame is painful; a hideous selfrecrimination that comes from knowing that you’ve acted indefensibly. Dictionary definitions all mention intense feelings of humiliation caused by the consciousness of wrong or foolish behaviour. The distress is rooted in the consciousness of the misdeed. Shame is primarily self-censure. Selfrecrimination leads to remorse but

remorse has an edifying effect on an individual, and hence, a population. Redemption is always possible — thank goodness, we can begin again — but shame is a necessary way station on the path. The problem is, being as bad behaviour grabs the spotlight, we never move on to the beneficial aspects of shame. Charlie Sheen, take a bow. Wait, you never stopped taking bows, and God knows what else.

What I find interesting is the inversion of shame. If the shameful act is of your own manufacture, it becomes fodder for public showcasing. It sets you up for a mulligan, a do-over. Rewound. Spun. Ever onward to fresh misadventures! Julia Child’s career probably couldn’t have withstood a stay in the slammer, but Martha Stewart’s has. Incarceration: It’s a good thing!

Oddly, if the gaffe is not of your own doing — if it’s generated organically, accidentally or incidentally — you have to keep it under wraps. Don’t ask; don’t tell. Physical infirmities, certain mental illnesses, incontinence: These are unforgiveable. These we mustn’t mention. It doesn’t matter how commonplace the affliction might be, admission could mean social or career death. A few brave souls step up to the plate every so often: Katie Couric televised her colonoscopy to draw attention to disease that took her husband’s life. In 1985, when his dad was U.S. vice-president, Marvin Bush spoke publicly about his ileostomy surgery in response to lifethreatening ulcerative colitis. According to the United Ostomy Association, 85,000 to 100,000 of these surgeries are performed annually in the U.S. Never comes up though, does it?

So I was interested to speak with former Olympic figure skater Isabelle Brasseur about her role in promoting the new Depends briefs.

You’ve probably seen the ads: Brasseur and former NHL player, P.J. Stock agree — for charity’s sake — to give the product a try. That their involvement has the stamp of philanthropy is hamfistedly highlighted. In the 30-second spot, the two of them skate around with the undetectable garments on. The viewer is shown the Depends briefs on a body, with and without clothing over top. Except for the fact that it’s adult incontinence that’s being discussed, the ads couldn’t be more bland. In respect to subject matter though, the ads are hot potatoes. Which is kind of funny, considering all the soft drink, water and beer ads you see on TV; you’d have to figure some of it ends up in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Brasseur told me about her mom who died in 2009. As she moved through her illness and attendant treatments, one of the things that failed her mom was bladder control. It affected her life enormously. Consequently, Brasseur said she welcomed the chance to normalize the subject of incontinence. As a woman, she told me she was taking far less heat for the ads than her male counterpart: Stock was being razzed endlessly. It appears there’s a gender bias in bladder control. But another funny thing: At the time of my interview, Depends had run out of the free samples they were mailing out.

Vicodin abuse, crack addictions, your own personal porn site? Shucks. Wonky sphincter? Shut your mouth!

Good for you, Isabelle and P.J. Now, somebody get to work on a jingle for incontinence.