The Sad Case of Susan Boyle

Am I the only one who thinks Susan Boyle is being exploited? Am I the only one who thinks she’s been treated in a dehumanizing, patronizing manner?

Two weeks ago, the 47-year-old unemployed Scottish charity worker was a lonely spinster, completely unknown—except to the mean, cruel, self-centered people who mocked and ridiculed her for her lack of physical beauty and perhaps for her seeming quirkiness or eccentricity.

Then Susan Boyle snagged a spot on the British TV show Britain’s Got Talent. And, at first, it looked as if Susan was in for more of the same—only this time, it would be, not a private shaming, but humiliation in front of an international audience of millions. Chief among the hateful, heckling horde was smug, smirking Simon Cowell, a ready scowl on his face. There, in the eyes of many, was pitiful, plain-Jane Susan Boyle, the perfect vulnerable prey for the slithering, salivating, heartless predator that is Simon Cowell, who was ready to pounce, as he’d done so many times before. And there was the audience snickering and scoffing with anticipatory glee.

The snickers and muffled laughter continued for a couple of awkward moments as Susan answered Cowell’s questions. Then Susan Boyle opened her mouth to sing, and out came, as judge Piers Morgan later gushed affectedly on Larry King Live, “the voice of an angel.”

The audience roared and cheered and jumped to its collective feet, and Cowell’s scowl turned into a radiant smile, artificially whitened teeth a-glow, cheeks flushed, dollar signs all but radiating in his now-dilating pupils. Laurels were tossed at Susan’s previously frumpy feet, and the praise flowed out of the judges’ mouths like so much liquid shit out of a never-been-pumped septic tank. Susan Boyle was a star!

Aren’t these the same pompous bastards who wouldn’t have given this woman the time of day 10 minutes earlier? Aren’t these the same egomaniacs who would have deemed Susan Boyle unfit to have breathed the same air as them if she’d sung out of key?

Last week, Larry King joined the media circus as ringleader and though, obviously genuinely impressed and even taken with Susan’s vocal chops, proceeded to ask her a raft of moderately insulting questions, such as whether or not she was going to change her apparently too-dowdy-for-Larry look. Absolutely not, Susan told him. “Why should I?” Good for you, girlfriend! Stick to your guns. Larry and his satellite guest, Morgan, fawned and gushed disingenuously over Boyle, talked about her in the third person as if she were Simon Cowell’s prize-winning pig, and otherwise dehumanized her under the guise of kudos and congratulations. Morgan even went so far as to ask Susan for a date (gag me); sadly, she said yes. I’d be curious to know whether the date actually happens.

The whole world, it seems, is in love with Susan Boyle. Susan Boyle, whose best friend—her mother, who died in 2007—had been her inspiration and her champion, the person who encouraged her to audition for the show. Susan Boyle, who’s excited about her newfound fame not because of the potential riches that will accompany it, but because “now,” as she candidly put it, “I won’t be lonely anymore.”

Well, I hope you’re not lonely anymore, Susan. You seem like a good person. Of course, you will have lots of potential new suitors—many of them will be handsome and successful. Many will profess their undying love. I hope—I really do—that one of them is real. And I hope you love him, too. I hope you don’t mistake having people around you for not being lonely. But I know you won’t, because you’re not only talented—you’re smart. So, if you don’t find what you’re looking for—whether that’s love or companionship—don’t settle.

You were a gifted singer before last week. Nobody can take that gift from you. But now—in the eyes of those who seek to profit from your talent—you are a commodity. Should you lose your voice, should the public grow tired of you, you will be tossed out like trash by the same people who professed their love, respect, and admiration for you when they first heard the “cha-ching!” of your angelic voice. They call the shots—but only if you let them.

Don’t let that happen, Susan. You are in the driver’s seat. In our society, for better or for worse, money equals power, and power equals freedom. You’ve earned your freedom. I hope you will cherish it and not allow yourself to become a pawn or a prisoner—and, if you’re so inclined, I hope you'll also allow yourself to tell Simon Cowell to fuck off.