Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita
Mi ritrovai per una selva Biebera,
Ché la diritta via era smarrita.
Back in the 1990s I tried, as an experiment, to not know anything about the Spice Girls (those of you around at that time will remember why). This was unsuccessful: I can rattle off each pseudonym. It just wasn’t possible to remain ignorant when their names were on everyone’s lips.
Nevertheless, I’m currently attempting to know nothing about Mr Bieber. That doesn’t mean sticking my fingers in my ears going “la la la la” when his name comes up; just not actually seeking out news or gossip about the man. Is it possible, in the 21st century, to live in a bubble of Biebignorance?
Currently I know precisely four things about Justin Bieber.
1. His name. (When I first blogged, I didn’t even know that—it was spelled Beiber throughout, hence the URL, and I wasn’t sure if it was Jason or Justin.)
2. He’s 16.
3. He’s Canadian. (This is like that scene from Pulp Fiction, wherein facts about Marcellus Wallace were elicited, isn’t it? Except nobody gets shot.)
4. He prefers older women, but “nothing over 40.” Since the age of consent in Canada is 16, gangs of slavering 40-year-old women are, I presume, lining up for this brief window of opportunity. Be gentle with him, ladies.
For some reason, whenever I talk about this project, people see it as an invitation to email me Bieberfacts—that is, deliberately sabotage the experiment. Perverting the course of science. Dear reader: if you feel so inclined, could I ask you before you hit Send to examine your motives? Could you, perhaps, be just a little ashamed of how much you know about Bieber-san? Will sharing your knowledge truly lessen your burden, or will it simply make the world a little sadder, a little more tawdry, a little less like it was in the golden years, when nobody had heard of a teenaged Canadian MILFer? Those innocent times, when all we spoke of were Posh, Scary, Sporty, Ginger. And Baby.