I am so furious at my sunglasses I could splinter them into a million tiny pieces, writes Suzanne Harrington.
Except I won’t, because they are gorgeous — pitch- black, 1950s-style. They were a rare treat at an airport duty-free a few months ago. Italians do espresso and sunglasses better.
You can see where this is going. I’m feeling full empathy with Elton John, who was photographed the other day carrying his sandwiches in a Dolce & Gabbana bag. Either Elton is getting a bit forgetful — maybe having two small children has pureed his brain — or he was making a tacit apology to D&G for calling them judgmental and archaic. My money is on the former. Why on earth would he apologise, when the two designers trashed the idea of any kind of family other than the nuclear, heterosexual variety? I love Elton when he throws a fit — his fearless outrage is like a cleansing fire of righteousness. So mighty is his stature as the queen mother of pop, so gigantic his wallet, so gargantuan his ego, that he can say what he bloody well likes without some record company PR quivering in the background, making throat-slitting gestures. Go Elton, with your fury at the internalised homophobia of those two Italian numpties.
Apart from screaming at them on Instagram for calling his own beautiful children “synthetic”, his wider point could not be more valid: “Shame on you for wagging your judgemental little fingers at IVF— a miracle that has allowed legions of loving people, both straight and gay, to fulfil their dream of having children.”
There are many, many “synthetic” babies amongst my friends and family. As we speak, three friends — two straight, one gay — are pregnant thanks to IVF. The wantedness of “synthetic” babies cannot be over-estimated. People spend their life savings, remortgage their house, go through gruelling, shattering treatments, which fail, over and over, and yet they keep going, keep trying, keep throwing money at it, in the hope of hopes that they will conceive and have the baby they want so much. It doesn’t always work, but science is inching forward.
For the fertile heterosexuals so idealised by Dolce & Gabbana, all it requires to become parents is a single moment. Perhaps this moment was not the right one, nor at the right time, nor with the right person — but there you are, with your non-synthetic baby on the way. For gay couples, it takes time, planning, effort, cash, and total dedication. For straight couples with fertility issues, it is the same. Procreation, declared Dolce & Gabbana, “must be an act of love”. Few acts are more loving than supporting your partner through IVF, or raising a family, including with your same-sex partner. It is the ultimate commitment, and the only one that children need — the commitment of love. Meanwhile, my commitment to my sunglasses, the ones stamped with a small D&G, diminishes by the hour. If only I were rich enough to boycott them properly.
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