Comedian and professional awkward person, Simon Amstell does a bit where he speaks about how his mother normalises famous people.
The line goes something like: you see that celebrity? Well shit comes out of them.
Good observation mamma Amstell. Shit comes out of most everyone; except for those unfortunate souls with medical conditions preventing the satisfying process of expelling shit.
So when you encounter people who get starstruck or, obsess about how perfect a celebrity is, you must wonder if they’ve considered that shit comes out of their preferred celeb.
Benedict Cumberbatch fans are strange. Some of them even refer to themselves as Cumberbitches. Some of them can’t contain themselves when he wears tight shirts. But the more odd amongst the Cumbercollective, are the fans who marvel (pun intended) at his hands.
Why though? They’re just hands. Granted, they’re attached to one of the most obsessed about British actors, but they’re just hands.
I wonder about those people who source those pictures of his hands, those who scour the internet for just the right angle of his 10 digits. Do the aesthetics of his hands have any impact on their day? If put to a challenge, would they be able to discern Benedict’s hands from other decoys?
You may even ask why I’m even dedicating this blog post to his hands. The answer: they keep coming up on my damned Facebook news feed.
Gosh. I’d probably be able to tell them apart from other hands if challenged. Though I wouldn’t stake my life on it.
I looked at those neatly trimmed fingernails and it occurred to me that even Benedict Cumberbatch must think ‘I need to trim these bad boys’.
And then there’s the whole process that he may one day realise that his clippers are blunt, and have to run out and get a new pair. There can’t be many things more work-a-day than having to buy nail clippers.
So nevermind the shit, consider the less graphic, humanising nail clipper.
*You may argue that Benedict goes for manicures, and my answer to that very plausible thought is: shhhh