I get kidnapped for one day. ONE DAY!!! One day and Benedict is in love. Benedict has a girlfriend. Benedict is engaged. Benedict is not engaged. Benedict has TWO girlfriends.
Geesh… That escalated quickly.
Far. Too. Quickly.
For those of you who haven’t opened the Daily Mail in the last couple of days or, better said, Tumblr or Twitter had no Wi Fi to work with, this is what happened.
Last week, Ben went to Ibiza, to officiate a wedding. Photos surfaced with Ben and a nice slim blonde, which, by the way he holds his hand around her, is most likely his girlfriend. That lady is Katia, a Russian model which he also dated last year. If they had split, I do not know, but the Cumberbitches wept and then cheered when they saw this. It is a known fact that Ben wants a family and fast too, so the immediate inception of an engagement rumor was to be believed.
What I saw ten minutes ago, as I was checking emails and stuff, completely clenched my heart and stomach. Benedict dating Two girls. Katia and somebody else. A ginger girl whose hand he held as they exited a Birtish club.
Surprise doesn’t cover it.
I was reppeled. I was annoyed. I was infuriated.
And then I was dissapointed.
A lot of feelings for three seconds, but the thought that the man whose character I admired so much, the man I looked up to, the man I wanted to star in my two favourite movies-to-be was cheating on a woman hit me like a spiked brick in the head. I didn’t want to believe it. But the words on all social networks were simple. Benedict Cumberbatch has Two Girlfriends. SHOCK! SHOCK! DIE AND SLASH!!
Life and Sherlock has taught me though not to believe Twitter reactions. The truth lies in what you can see with your own eyes. That is everything you can trust.
So the hunt started. I went to the dark realm of the media.
And I was relieved.
If it weren’t for my parents, aunt and uncle in the room, I would have laughed out loud.
Ah, the power of the news, internet and press. Ah, the power of the spoken word. The power of lies and avoidance of truth. So. Many. Lies.
The reaction was so saddening, I really needed to write this. The thought that fans would turn away because of a lie, a twisted truth, a fake, tied my stomach into knots. The news were nothing compared fo that.
The Fifth Estate is coming. And this article is Wikileaks all over again.
So, dear Sherlockians, what do we know as of yet? That Ben was kissing Katia is an undeniable truth. The photo speaks it true. Photoshop is hard to do at that much zooming and the way they hold their hands is far too natural.
The Ginger girl is a funny story. Nobody knows who she is, nobody has seen her before. She is a Jane Doe for the moment. And what I can tell you is that she is NOT his girlfriend.
Let’s do this Sherlock Style, OK? They left from an extremely public place. Ben is known for his privacy and even he can’t be that naive as to date a second woman and get this obvious. He’s far smarter than the press. Bring a date to a London Pub when you’re supposed to be with someone else? Nope.
Next, they were accompanied by an older lady, again, unknown to me. By the way she walks ahead and holds her hands, she must have been some sort of party organizer and/or an agent. Do you take a motherly figure out for a date? No!
The main argument: the paparrazzi were on them. Ginger knew of that and she was distressed. She was annoyed at first for ruining the smoothness of the plan, which was to get Ben out of there. Then she was scared. A look at her face and the way she pushes her hair back makes it obvious. Photographers are like wolves. They hunt you down and can be merciless. The would do anything for a damned photo. Ben is a nice guy and he is getting used to being harassed by the P-guys, so, in a situation when a guest is saddened, the normal reaction is to try and make her feel safe. Being followed and having each move tracked is very distressing and Ginger was the damsel that Ben felt like protecting. Is she a real damsel? No again.
She walks surely, she puts each foot in front of the other with confidence, her clothing and bag scream well-doing. But she was scared. And Ben didn’t want that for her.
You don’t see it yet? Fine, here you have it.
Notice how, as they were leaving, their hands weren’t linked. As the paparrazzi jumped in, Ben bent his head (defensive posture) and she grabed him by the forearm. Not by his hand, but by his wrist. It’s the usual shock reaction. You are scared and you look for protection and taking a man’s arm is a normal sign that you want him to defend you. Ben took her hand and, by the way he walks and the way her hair flows, they sped up a bit. The way he holds her is wrong for a boyfriend (he walks too far ahead), but proper for a companion.
I can’t read lips in pics, so I have no idea what he is saying, but a normal bet would be on “Keep walking. Don’t stop. They’ll be gone soon. Just don’t be scared. Everything is alright.” He’s been through this before. He knows how to deal with scandalists and idiots searching for a headline.
As they reached the car, the biggest clue of the evening is revealed. The door opens, Ben lets go of Ginger’s hand and jumps into the car.
By the way the pic was taken, it looks like half a shove. The two ladies are behind him, outside the car. What sort of man, Benedict most of all, would jump into the car and leave the girls outside?
When the scandal around him and another Jane Doe, which proved to be his niece, erupted, he had made sure that she was safely inside the car, before jumping in. Why leave the supposed lover outside the door? Also, you can tell by the look on Ginger’s face that all she wanted to do was get Ben in the car and get going. The Blonde Organizer duchess is lacking an earpiece. The Eagle is in the vehicle. I repeat. The Eagle is in the vehicle.
There is a certain language to tabloid subjects. You’ll never see The Independent meow or The Times talks about Cumberbitches. Those are the most trustworthy newspapers in the world. And they said nothing, rien, nada of this. Because, even though the information has obviously surfaced, they know it’s not worth paying any mind.
Because it’s fake.
Headlines such as “Mistery Lover! Is Benedict Cheating On Katia? See exclusive pics!” reek of money-hunters. People take photos for serious and they should, because they usually are real and trustworthy, but context and the lack of it can completely change the meaning of anything. It’s like written sarcasm. Only one man in a thousand can distinguish it.
Here is where the full pics can be seen. Here you have the full setting. See and tell for yourselves. Convince your heads, because I know your hearts.
It all felt wrong. It was wrong. It was stupid. And wrong.
We don’t know Ben, we never will. But a man who has had a 12 year relationship since college doesn’t just go on to having affairs and cheating on a girl that he obviously feels for. The way he holds Katia’s hand as he kisses her is a clear sign of attachment. Not just friendship. It’s the sign for something more. It’s a fresh thing, though. The way she sits in the first pic suggests that she’s not used to being the official girlfriend. A bit of modesty. Goes well for her. I might even like her if that much is true.
I don’t know much about Katia, but ballerinas are known for being straightforward and competitive. Their training hardens them and they are very self-conscious. A girl like that can be nice or she can be a total witch, but think of how Ben is. He’s far too smart and caring to go chasing for a girl just so he could have kids. His parents have been better examples than that.
Emotions are precious. And what hurts me is the way people exaggerate and turn a simple truth into a twisted lie. The media lives by corrupting or freeing men and this is an old case of scandal hunters and haters. Ben has been described as a perfect guy by more than one magazine. Competitors needed to backfire.
This is why I say: never EVER trust the media. Never Trust Newspapers. When the evidence is scarce and the font is large, throw the paper in the bin. Burn it. When you can’t see the reasoning, the arguments, the photos, the Real ones, trust nothing.
And trust no one.