It was, perhaps, one of the most fantastically awful opening paragraphs in history: "Change is a wonderful, inevitable part of life. It is deeply intertwined in the very process of evolution. It is a constant force, pressing against humanity's daily efforts to maintain the secure routine of life and society. Much as homeostasis maintains internal equilibrium by adjusting its physiological processes, we externally adjust to maintain our own reality every single day."
Before you think the writer is on the bath salts or that the Sunday Independent magazine is printing Leaving Certificate essays as part of a South Dublin outreach programme, behold the reality – this was, in fact, a mini-thesis by Rosanna Davison, revoking excess, or more specifically, revoking the kind of excess that was illustrated by a photo shoot she and her mates took part in at Krystle nightclub three years ago. Which was in that paper. Do keep up.
The construction of such alternative realities as the one Davison created for the purpose of publicity which she now seeks to erase, sees the media edifice which gives these fantasies credence existing in a sort of Lost-type universe, chugging along on an isolated proxy champagne-fuelled space-time continuum. Now that 'Rosanna Repents', as the magazine cover screamed, it creates the effect of falling down some kind of meta-wormhole where even the previous false realities are now being erased for the purpose of manufacturing a new fake reality.
If you're taking life lessons from someone who makes a living by getting photographed in her knickers, you know you're in trouble. Let's face it, the revoking of excess is also just another stunt.
"Conspicuous consumption is out of fashion," Davison wrote. "It's a bit naff to order copious magnums of champagne in a nightclub, or flaunt the latest designer It-bag. Diamond-encrusted bling has been noticeably toned down and wearing the same dress more than once is no longer a cardinal sin."
I must apologise at this point if you have vomited up your breakfast, but it's worth analysing that statement. It's not that such consumption was wrong, distasteful, inappropriate, or stupid, it's that it's out of fashion. So Davison and her ilk are not apologising for it, they're just saying it's not really cool to be seen to be, dare I say, vulgar, considering the number of little people who have lost their jobs and are in negative equity and all the rest of that downer buzz.
For the purpose of research and second opinion, Davison opted for that tried-and-tested celebrity approach of just interviewing her buddies for the article. Her friend Gillian Fitzpatrick weighed in: "In general terms, I didn't have any more or less money than I have now, but I would certainly have been far more indulgent." Brilliant! So you're still loaded, but once again, it's totally uncool to flash the cash in public.
But this is the best bit: "A couple of times I hopped on a plane solely to go to my favourite restaurant – which just happens to be in Rome!" I know, amazing right. Thank God that kind of excess is over. Except, it isn't really. A quick glance at her Twitter page reveals a recent conversation between the two: "phew, glad I made it back from Rome before the volcanic ash looms over the country again," Fitzpatrick tweeted on 16 May. Maybe she revoked excess after that trip.
I wonder if Davison was also reminded of how homeostasis maintains internal equilibrium by adjusting its physiological processes as that private jet was taking off to transport her and Johnny Ronan on a boozy night in Marrakesh.
Am I being too bitchy? Probably. In some ways, I feel I have a certain affinity with Davison, apart from the whole Miss World plus millionaire pops thing. We are nearly the same age, we got the same results in the Leaving Cert (I gleaned this fact from her Wikipedia page), we are both sort of 'southsiders', although she's technically from Wicklow, and I'm from Deansgrange, which exists in a sort of shifty limbo between Foxrock and Blackrock. I even frequented Dr Quirky's arcade on O'Connell Street from time to time in my youth, and Davison is going out with the heir of the Dr Quirkey's 'empire'. What, you're telling me she didn't meet Wes by the slot machines? Oh.
But what is most ridiculous about Davison writing this is that lumping everyone under the age of 28 into 'Generation Bebo' – or at least some middle-aged media construct of 'Generation Bebo' – is grossly unfair. Davison's clique are the minority, and continue to be. They are elevated to a daft status in order to fill social pages and gossip snippets, in an attempt to add false value to the launch brigade, and in order to make them feel important so they continue to feed this excruciatingly inane side of the press.
It certainly doesn't reflect fairly on the rest of the so-called Generation Bebo. In short, not all of us are idiots.