Diana

It's been 10 years since the death of the Princess of Wales. Wow. Having been an avid Diana-phile before she lost her life in a tunnel in Paris, I have since avoided morbid preoccupation with her sad end, and have tried to not buy in to the exploitation of her memory. That said, a ten-year anniversary of a major event is one where we can remember the exact moment when we heard the news, our shock at the time, and everything which has occurred in our own personal lives since that day. I remember that I and my daughter were staying at my sister's house in Fairfield, CA, the evening when every news station seemed to simultaneously make the stunning announcement. Like everyone at that moment, time seemed to stop for me, and we immediately became glued to the television, trying to find out what exactly happened.

To those who may be baffled at the world-wide obsession and grief at the passing of a woman who most did not really know at all, it may help to see that Diana, when she lived, was a true phenomenon... the ultimate pop icon. Here was a woman who was introduced to the world as a photogenic, glowing, blonde 19-year-old... someone who clearly had her own look and charisma, who was engaged to be married to, of all people, the prospective future King of England.

 She had a particular impression on me because, at the time of her engagement, I was 17 and full of optimism for the future myself. It was during the summertime, during a stint I had taken as a nanny in the countryside in Pennsylvania, that I fell under her spell, reading about her in magazines I had bought to keep myself occupied during my "internment". She had a dazzling smile, big blue eyes, and a unique persona... at the beginning, she was a bit chubby, she bit her nails until they were raw (visible in photographs), she tended to forget to wear slips under her dresses (allowing photographers to catch her nearly-naked silhouette showing through her thin dress - not to mention allowing them to catch a stray nipple peeking out from her black silk dress, worn on her first official function with Charles), and she seemed to be naively, genuinely in love with her Prince. She came across as sweet and abashed by the attention she got.

The months leading up to the royal wedding seemed a bit dreamlike, to those of us watching the spectacle. It was a time of excitement and glamour, and was a magical time for the Western world. Of course, that initial enchantment with Diana became eroded somewhat over time, with stories about the disintegration of her marriage, about her manipulations, about their mutual affairs while outwardly pretending to be a loving couple... and the story ended in the tunnel.

In my opinion, "remembering Diana", for those of us who never knew her and cannot seriously presume to have known what she was really like, is not about her at all. It is about remembering someone who represented a lot of things that perhaps only existed in our expectations, and what the media stoked in our hopes and dreams. When she died, the shock was because these dreams came to a crashing end. She is dead, and has been dead for many years now.

 We should remember her as someone who tried to represent something meaningful, to remember her wedding (and the time we became obsessed with her) as a time of innocence, but to continue that obsession now is silly and more than a little pathetic...