Growing up, ‘See You Next Tuesday’ was all the rage. A cheeky linguistic sleight of hand: C/U (see/you) followed by the initials N/T (Next/Tuesday), was a neat and naughty way of saying the unsayable.

Fifty-one years later, it’s a word I still try hard to avoid, and on the rare occasions I do use it, it grates, and I am not remotely proud of myself. It’s strange why this unholy grail of profanity remains so taboo, while the notionally less crude f-word has waltzed into mainstream acceptability.

Despite meaning nothing more than vagina or vulva, it has long been weaponised, often misogynistically, and remains one of the most vulgar words in the English language. I reserve it (rather than serve it) for those rare moments when I want to be deeply personal and offensive.

So you can imagine my surprise when I woke up last Sunday to find das verbotene Wort plastered all over my Facebook wall – albeit with a K, just like the philosopher. 

Kant, Kant, Kant, Kant.

Having not watched a single second of Eurovision the night before, it took me a moment to cotton on (or should that be kotton?). Thankfully, a few Facebook friends came to the rescue, providing just enough context to make me laugh out loud. No mean feat first thing on a Sunday morning.

Of all the Facebook comments I read, these were easily my favourite:

“Serving Kant wins Eurovision for Malta. First time I said that word, my mum washed my mouth with soap. Second time, I got expelled from school. Nice play on words by the singer. Wonder if my husband would complain if I served that . . .”

And then this gem:

“Eh, ok, I just woke up and I’m thinking – why is everyone mentioning the C-word but spelt differently? Serving Kant. Allahares ghadu ħaj Terry Wogan (God forbid Terry Wogan were still alive)”.

That last comment made me smile. Because honestly, it would have been worth suffering the entire Eurovision freak show just to hear Wogan’s withering take on Miriana Conte’s Kant. I can almost hear him now, in equal parts bemused and horrified, chuckling to himself, raising an eyebrow, and delivering a perfectly kutting remark, about the (not-so-barefoot) Kantessa.  Glass of Chianti, anyone?

And I suppose that makes me an awful person: a holier than thou highbrow who doesn’t get it and is, in some way, jealous of Miriana Conte’s success. Nothing could be further from the truth.

By the end of the day, I realised that we had been relegated to two camps: the ones who got it (political subversion, LGBTIQ+ agenda and all) and the ones who didn’t (morally indignant at the prospect of Malta being represented by, well, a Kant). 

Serving Kant could serve Eurovision’s ultimate purpose – shocking audiences, ruffling feathers, sparking conversation and media frenzy- Michela Spiteri

Let me make one thing clear: I don’t feel morally injured and yes, I do get it. I’m something of a wordsmith myself and I appreciate a good play on words, especially one that scores a bullseye. Because truth be told, winning a competition and then representing Malta internationally with a song title like that is nothing short of stupefying.

You couldn’t get away with it on a car number plate. Even watching the judges stand up one by one and announce ‘Kant’ on stage was surreal, and perhaps strangely liberating. And honestly, what could be more fitting for Eurovision, the ultimate celebration of kitsch and kamp, a show we have never quite got the hang of?

So, on that score, Kudos to Kant.  

But it kuts both ways. If you’re as bold and sassy as the title of your song, then you have to be prepared for the pushback of public opinion. Eurovision isn’t just your moment. It belongs to everyone. You’re not just a solo artist; you’re representing your country on an international stage. So, you can’t simply dismiss those who were wholly disenchanted and disgusted as clueless or retrograde. Like it or not, their opinion c(o)unts.  

Which brings me to my second point. Conte’s choice of outfit.

I generally believe ‘less is more’. But not when it comes to clothing. I’ve had my fair share of fashion disasters, and it’s taken years (plus a hypercritical mother who, despite being a size 8, insists on buying everything extra-large) to refine my own style. For all that, I’m hardly a fashion icon and I’m not about to give anyone fashion advice.  

But here’s where I stand: the less you reveal, the more mysterious and effortlessly sexy you become. And that holds true whether you’re a size 6, 16, or anywhere in between. Baring all isn’t powerful – it’s just cliche’ and predictable. And, in this case, completely at odds with the song’s ultimate message. Real empowerment comes from within.   

Confidence isn’t about forcing yourself into an outfit that screams for attention – it’s about owning your presence without needing gimmicks. Miriana Conte has the voice, talent, and the charisma to shine on her own terms. Her weight is irrelevant because true star power transcends size. 

And yes, I’d say exactly the same thing if she were a size 6.

But if we’re Serving Kant, then we’re also serving unapologetic honesty. And I fail to see how squeezing into ill-fitting, skin-tight micro-mini tangas is some kind of grand statement on body positivity or girl power.  If anything, it undermines the message it claims to promote. If Conte had a lacklustre voice and no stage presence, then a bold, eye-catching outfit might make sense, turning the spectacle into the main attraction rather than the performer.

Ultimately, what Conte chooses to wear is no skin off my nose and I certainly won’t be slating her for it. I’ve heard the song, and the most memorable part is those two words. Strip them away, and what remains? Nothing that really sticks.

That said, it might be the perfect match for the Eurovision Song Contest. Serving Kant could serve Eurovision’s ultimate purpose – shocking audiences, ruffling feathers, sparking conversation and media frenzy. ‘Kritikism’ aside, I wish her luck.