For Public Consumption ─ Jude Bellingham

The world had learned to eat him.

Not whole. Never whole. It took Jude Bellingham in pieces from the slope of his shoulders beneath England's brilliant kit, the smile offered after defeat, the hand he had placed at the back of a younger teammate's neck as cameras crowded close. It consumed his restraint and called it maturity. His anger became passion. His silence became humility. Even grief looked handsome on him beneath stadium lights.

After the World Cup, everyone wanted another portion.

Magazines wanted his face. Fashion houses wanted his body. Interviewers wanted childhood memories arranged neatly enough to fit between advertisements. People who had never watched ninety minutes of football learned his number, his birthday, the shape of his mouth when he tried not to laugh. Those who were twice his age discussed his character as though they had raised him themselves.

The public did not want to know Jude.

It wanted the pleasure of believing it already did.

Nadia understood that kind of hunger better than most.

She had built a career feeding it.