Harry and Caroline: bridging the generation gap with their relationship
It’s hard to precisely recall all that has happened between Caroline Flack and Harry Styles during their attention-grabbing romance of the past fortnight or so. (Not least since I tried to avoid having to read about it ever until yesterday, when temptation became too much.)
There’s been a flurry of alluring headlines, but every time I try to pay attention to the content of the article for more than ten seconds it’s like a belligerent maths professor has overdosed on caffeine and is trying to bash me over the head with a simple equation:
“17! 32! SEVENTEEN!!! THIRTY-TWO!!! THAT’S 15 YEARS! FIFTEEN YEARS! ALMOST THE SAME AS SEVENTEEN!!! FOR GOODNESS SAKE HAVE YOU HEARD WHAT I AM SAYING??? ALMOST DOUBLE!!!!!! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?!?!?!”
So yes, it appears to have been comprehensively (and repeatedly) pointed out by absolutely anyone who loves their trashy gossip mags – and who doesn’t except shrivel-lipped joyless fools? – that there is indeed a notable age gap between The Xtra Factor presenter Caroline and One Direction moppet Harry. But just as love can blossom despite ocean-spanning distances and other seemingly insurmountable barriers, isn’t that actually a beautiful thing?
Sorry, I didn’t mean to pose that as a question: it is a beautiful thing, like it or not. If you don’t think so you’re a wretched excuse for a human being. (You barely deserve to glance at their red-cheeked glowingly happy fizzogs on the cover of Heat, so greatly do you disgrace both yourself and your family name. What a waste.)
In an era where emotionally scarred nerdy scientists are trying to convince us that love doesn’t exist (not content with killing God himself of all people), we need to cherish what examples of it there are left, before it disappears FOREVER. (And ever.)
After all, marriage will soon be about as outdated and redundant as David Hasselhoff at a dubstep disco. Why? Well, religious campaigners have successfully pointed out that if marriage equality is legalised in Scotland, suddenly so many wacky combinations of people will be getting together in matrimony that the concept will be left with no meaning. Everyone will then stop getting hitched in mass protest, because suddenly it's not cool or hip or whatever-word-the-kids-use anymore. (You know, in that way that because everyone was drinking now absolutely nobody bothers getting blootered. Ditto smoking and using the internet.)
I don’t know about you, but when I grew up I believed in a thing called love. The singer from The Darkness harped on about it, Patrick Swayze proved its existence in gritty US documentary Dirty Dancing, and Disney movies beat me over the head with the idea over and over again until I couldn’t help but grin vacantly and stare when somebody mentioned the idea.
Through all forms of media, and especially in film, we were instructed over and over again that ‘love is blind’. I wanted to grow up to find myself wed to Winona Ryder, but didn’t think society would accept our nine-year age gap. (If only I’d known sooner; that shoplifting nonsense might never have happened with my steady, calming, youthful influence. She'd simply have become addicted to ordering takeaway pizza instead.) Indeed, most would still like to believe that love is blind, with desperate singletons always certain to be harbouring thoughts that at least one or two objects of their affections might be able to ignore their myriad gross deficiencies.
Strangely enough, when in a group we never seem able to accept that that possibility exists for others, not without sneering derisively and swinging to hasty, risible moral judgements. It’s not supposed to be about looks, we assure ourselves when self-interest is involved – but if a beautiful lady is seen with a (subjectively) pug-ugly bloke, then a whole phalanx of assumptions are plucked out of the air before either has even had the chance to introduce themselves.
At least there’s the time-honoured stereotype about powerful males to explain that particular scenario away; the trail of sordid inferences takes a more sinister turn if it were to be a gorgeous athletic male seen locking lips with a homely looking lady as plump as the average Christmas turkey. (Well, it is that time of year...)
In such circumstances most ingrates appear to ignore any factual evidence that love is indeed blind - suppressing areas of the brain controlling critical thought - and instead become wantonly cruel and bitchy, while they do so taking comfort from being part of the pack, therefore mitigating their responsibilities. (Because groupthink would never lead to error.)
And so it is with Caroline and Harry. They could be perfectly well suited; there’s plenty of extremely mature children, highly immature pensioners and just about everything else in between, including them. As we grow older some of the best friends we make may be a generation or two apart in terms of age – is 15 years really so much of a difference? With the online world we’re all connected to the same sources of entertainment, and it’s certainly no weirder to find a thirty-something listening to One Direction and watching The X Factor than it is to find a teenager tuning into some jazz on Radio 3 and reading a broadsheet paper’s website.
Age gaps in relationships can of course be disturbing and potentially destructive, depending on how it affects the power balance, but whether they are is best gleaned by observing behaviour at a closer distance. That's something that certainly won’t be found by casting a beady eye over tabloid papers’ highly dubious reportage.
So, why not put any cynicism aside and celebrate two individuals putting aside any different to form a beautiful union. Love conquers all! With that we should wish them well, and aspire towards the sort of long-lasting happiness that they surely possess in spades. The next step has to be a Hollywood adaptation: Justin Bieber as Harry, and Dame Judi Dench as Caroline. That chemistry is going to be off the hook.
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