There are times I want to reach through the television and slap the smug little grin off Emmanuel Macron’s face—but I restrain myself.
Partly because I don’t want to be stuck paying for a new TV on behalf of France. Mostly because I’m not his former drama teacher, wife, or personal child-groomer.
Yes—groomer. Let’s not mince words. Macron was 15. Brigitte was 40. His teacher. Married. With kids. In any other country, this story ends with a court case. In France, it ends with a presidential campaign and a perfume ad. They turned what looks suspiciously like child predation into a liberal fairytale, full of violins, vineyards, and Vogue spreads.
So when the rumour mill spat out a video showing Brigitte allegedly landing one on her hubby’s chin during a private disagreement in a public space, one might have expected a flicker of concern. A little introspection. Maybe even a #MenToo hashtag. Instead, the Élysée Palace sprang into action with a statement so tired it could’ve been drafted by a retired Biden: “It’s Russian disinformation.”
And suddenly, we’re in holy territory.
Because in today’s West, nothing truly scandalous can happen unless Vladimir Putin willed it so. He’s become the spiritual bogeyman of neoliberalism. The ghost in the machine. The Kremlin spectre blamed for everything from Hillary’s emails to your cousin’s erectile dysfunction.
Now he’s apparently behind Brigitte’s alleged right hook.
Did Moscow deploy a psychic signal to the First Lady? “Comrade, activate sleeper bride. Disrupt neoliberal optics via knuckle sandwich.” Or is this just another handy costume to shield a wildly inappropriate origin story?
This really isn’t about one slap. What it is about is a society that rebrands power imbalances as romantic defiance. That airbrushes grooming into ‘grit’ and rewrites red flags into red carpets. If Macron had been a 40-year-old man who seduced his 15-year-old female student, we’d never hear the end of it. There’d be true crime podcasts. Netflix specials. Think pieces about predation and patriarchy. Instead, we get candlelit photoshoots and headlines like Love Knows No Age.
Meanwhile, Putin is dragged into every headline like the West’s emotional support villain. If someone chokes on a baguette in Bordeaux, it’s probably Russian wheat. If Brigitte throws a punch, it must be the Kremlin. If Macron farts out of tune—it’s Putin with a flute.
This is Geopolitics morphed into theological spectacle. A religion in which Western leaders never err—they’re just misunderstood prophets sabotaged by Slavs.
Let them eat cake. And let Putin take the punch—for everything from dodgy elections to dodgier marriages.
He’s a savvy survivor, is our Putin, and personally, my favourite European statesman.
* Gillian Schutte is a South African writer, filmmaker, and critical-race scholar known for her radical critiques of neoliberalism, whiteness, and donor-driven media. Her work centres African liberation, social justice, and revolutionary thought.
** The views expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of or Independent Media.
