Even worse, food has to be re-appropriated into the photographic medium before being devoured because it isn't sufficiently satisfying to just eat it. No, it's all presentation and re-presentation in favour of ingestion.
And everyone's green with food envy watching the latest celebrity chef series.
No, the rock star doesn't exist anymore, nor does the film star; the Celebrity Chef has ousted them both. Why so? Well, he/she manufactures images of products, which cannot be felt, smelled or digested, making us all melt with insatiable desire.
Food is the new pornography. Nobody wants to eat anymore; they want to watch contestants being filmed eating. And let me tell you, it's not one bit enjoyable to be filmed or photographed with a mouthful of food on your plate or a plateful of food in your mouth, especially when expected to synopsise the situation simultaneously.
It bugs me to no end, because you can't eat a photo and expect to gain any remote form of gratification. Inasmuch as you can't directly, tactilely experience the Antipodean temperatures, breezes, trees and seas in British Columbia.
These days, the ratio of cameras held aloft during wedding processions to the number of people in attendance is staggeringly high. The dear old bride can't walk down the aisle and giggle tearfully with her mates anymore; she has to face the bullets of the metal moments-takers.
You can't just share a gushy smile; it has to be interrupted by the robotics of the present-damning digital age.
The question remains, to paraphrase Hansel in the film Zoolander, where do all the files go? As the old-fashioned experts will tell you, no one ever sees the reproductions of these magic moments. Unless, of course, they're involved with unquenchable social media in some form, but let's not go into the root of the problem.
No one can do anything anymore without the invasion of privacy. Click, snap, click, snap, click, snap.
An impoverished present, it is, indeed. And food is the new nude.
