The Princess and the Pea 2.0

Translated by Angela Tagliafierro

If we had to look for a central idea linking the contemporary world leaders, we would not think of the passion for photo editing.

Well-known ancestors include the American President Abraham Lincoln, whose edited pictures played such a key role in his race to the White House. Another representative would inevitably be Josip Stalin, an expert in photographic desaparecidos, political figures unpopular to the Soviet regime who were literally cancelled by history.

The last descendant of this sequence of decoupage enthusiasts would be none other than Catherine 'Kate' Middleton. On the eleventh of March, the Princess of Wales — just one of her many titles of nobility - apologised for faking a photo of herself with royal progeny. Published on Mother's Day in the UK, it was the first official photo released by Kensington Palace since the abdominal surgery the Duchess of Cambridge underwent in January. It was precisely this media silence that had given rise to a swarm of rumours and gossip about the health of the royal wedding and the Duchess of Cornwall herself. The latter finally revealed on 22 March that she had begun a course of preventive chemotherapy following a cancer diagnosis.

Kate has also expressed the royal family's sacrosanct need for 'time, space and privacy', a right we would be careful not to violate. At the same time, the story of the Duchess of Rothesay can tell us a lot about our relationship as a public with celebrities and technology. Almost like a contemporary fairy tale, with its princess, its magic element, and its moral.

• Once upon a time, in a kingdom far away…

As the example of President Lincoln illustrates, photo editing has developed almost parallel to photography, whose history begins in the first half of the 19th century. The scope and implications of the practice have thus evolved according to context over a centuries-long process.

The misadventure of the Countess of Chester lies at the confluence of Web 2.0. The second era of the Internet, marked by greater interaction between site and user, and the rise of social media — and the dawn of a new realm, that of Artificial Intelligence. The story then unfolds in a forest of mirrors, #withoutfilter hashtags and self-taught photojournalists, sprouting like mushrooms in an undergrowth once dominated by the press.

On the one hand, Instagram and Twitter have freed the royal family from the siege of tabloids and paparazzi. The 'blue tick' of verified accounts offered British monarchs a unique opportunity to reclaim control over their public image.

On the other hand, social media has opened the door to a new class of influencers who thrive by showcasing their private lives. Parvenus such as Chiara Ferragni have founded empires on a voyeuristic audience in spasmodic search of authenticity and relatableness — that is, the fact that they can recognise themselves in their idols.

The Duchess of Sussex, Meghan Markle, Prince Harry's wife and former editor of the lifestyle blog The Tig, is the prime suspect for the introduction of this modus operandi at Kensington Palace.

• But then, one day…

What is created is an inherent tension between authenticity and performance, which ends up pervading the seemingly unmediated relationship between audiences and content creators in Web 2.0. The promise of spontaneity through #unfiltered looks in the lives of celebrities is disregarded by their deliberate choices of what to show and how to show it.

A kind of narrative pact 2.0, in which the viewer more or less consciously accepts as true the content provided to him by his idols, ignoring the careful work and selection behind it.

Social media therefore represent a powerful weapon, but one to be handled with care, lest it backfire on the wielder. Even a small misstep, in fact, risks breaking the narrative pact. The price of betrayed authenticity entails the loss of control over the narrative, which would be perceived as irretrievably manipulated and corrupted, as Kate's story demonstrates.

The Countess of Carrick's withdrawal from the public scene after her abdominal operation had provided fertile ground for speculation about her condition. The Mother's Day photo was supposed to dispel the fog with her radiant smiles, but its manipulation cast the even darker shadows of conspiracy theories.

'Although most people will probably forgive and forget, the risk is an erosion of trust, an important asset for the monarchy,' former royal correspondent for the BBC Peter Hunt told the New York Times.

Even this inconvenience, as small as the pea in Andersen's fairy tale, could put a strain on the sensitive Baroness of Renfrew, striking at the heart of the image of the flawless princess, the result of tenacious and painstaking care.

And as if that were not enough, a new creature is lurking in the interstice between the Web and the real world.

• A new threat

“I am already receiving dozens of emails with 'evidence' of even more nefarious photo manipulations and AI-generated images that are then used to speculate wildly about Princess Kate's health,” forensic expert Hany Farid wrote for Time Magazine.

Artificial Intelligence (AI) is emerging as the 'master of suspicion' of the 21st century, blurring the line between real and virtual to unprecedented levels. What was once the preserve of artists or the Soviet elite intent on erasing unwelcome faces from regime family photos is now within reach of any smartphone.

Already now, AI-generated content reaches such levels of realism that it constitutes real deepfakes, i.e. photos, videos, and audio that can imperceptibly modify or replicate a face, body, or voice. The scale of this technological revolution has even attracted the attention of the European Union's legislative apparatus. In March, in fact, the European Parliament approved the AI Act, the first and so far most comprehensive set of rules on artificial intelligence worldwide.

• And did they all live happily ever after?

Despite this legal activism, AI remains a largely unexplored and ever-expanding terrain. In this sense, the greatest burden still rests on the shoulders of the viewer, who is called upon to use his or her own critical judgement.

However, this appeal risks sounding like a hopeless cry, in an era when increasingly pervasive and less identifiable manipulation threatens to wear down an already weak public trust. At a time when even the Princess of Wales, in a legitimate if clumsy attempt to quell gossip, resorts to photo editing.

Singing to a happy ending therefore seems premature. A less than encouraging moral sounds more appropriate instead:

The disappointed thirst for authenticity is likely to turn into a hunger for conspiracy. In the face of a drought of confidence, widespread scepticism could prove a valuable guardian. But beware of credulity, which can easily enter through the back door.

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