Behind enemy lines I demand a recount

Author: Andrey Tolstoy

A few months ago, I stumbled upon a YouTube video of Paul Potts, the phone salesman who won the first season of "Britain's Got Talent" with a performance of Puccini's "Nessun Dorma." Throughout the competition - and life - Paul's greatest obstacle was the unsightliness of his own teeth. Often bullied as a child, he became quiet and unconfident. Music was his solace. When he walked on stage in front of Simon Cowell and timidly said he wanted to sing opera, the camera panned around the auditorium, revealing hundreds of scornful and incredulous faces. A minute and a half later, the audience sprung to its feet in standing ovation and Amanda Holden looked like she could use a cigarette.

Two years later, Britain's got more of the same. The New York Times reports, "Part of the joy of watching [Susan Boyle's] performance was seeing the obnoxious, smarmy grimaces disappear from the faces of Simon Cowell and Piers Morgan, two of the show's judges, and seeing the audience shift, in an instant, from tittering condescension to open-mouthed admiration." Furthermore, Boyle "has become a heroine not only to people dreaming of being catapulted from obscurity to fame but also to those who cheer her triumph over looks-ism and ageism in a world that so values youth and beauty."

If you've been looking for a way to offend someone in the most egregious way possible while seemingly complimenting them at the same time, look no further: Susan Boyle isn't just shooting herself in the foot for your benefit; a whole industry has been set in motion to subtly destroy the very principles she thinks she has given the world reason to defend.

The premise underlying people's fascination with Boyle is the low standard she initially set for her singing by being quirky and unattractive. What amazes me is not the fact that she has succeeded, but how her story has been misused without anyone making much of a fuss. The true purpose of heaping praise on Susan Boyle is the reaffirmation of faith in our own humanity ... at her expense, and that of everyone who identifies with her.

Things exist in opposition to others. We had to exaggerate the extent of closeted American racism to make Obama's candidacy just implausible enough to cause anxiety in anticipation of opening up the discourse of a post-racial United States. Similarly, we have to exaggerate the extent of our prejudice against Susan in order to give "Britain's Got Talent's" financial triumph its flimsy moral underpinnings. Some time after Paul Potts won, Simon Cowell described the experience to a journalist, inventing unnecessary whimsical details like the contestant wearing "a funny little suit." Now the press is latching on to Boyle's sarcastic remark about having "never been kissed" because it fits so nicely with the image that makes her story archetypal.

However, our incessant back-patting and simulated awe at Boyle's achievement perpetuates the stereotype that the older and aesthetically imperfect are inferior by default to those who aren't. It is undeniable that her performance was good, but that's not the real story. The real difficulty she had to overcome was the lifelong charge of taking care of her mother, which left her little time for anything except winning local singing competitions at the old lady's insistence. Boyle hesitated before entering "Britain's Got Talent" because she feared the entertainment industry prioritized a certain kind of body image - and she was right. The judge with the greasy hair told her: "Without a doubt, that was the biggest surprise I've had on the show in three years." In other words, Susan Boyle didn't win on her own terms. She won because for a few minutes the world decided to privilege one side of a false dichotomy that clearly hasn't changed as a result: Susan Boyle needed self-esteem, but only found pity and condescension.

As it has times before, "South Park" had it right again last week: "If one more person talks to me about that Susan Boyle performance of Les Mis