Day 23-26

Dr. N. Quellar M.D.

My fellow scholars of psychiatry, at this prestigious event, for which I must thank our kind sponsors, I would like to present new evidence supporting my original theory of CopyCatism, or Idolmorphosis. Since the blueprint case study of Tommy three years ago, there has been only limited evidence to support such hypotheses of celebrity imitation and the fame fetish. Limited, that is, until now. As both practising psychiatrist and naturally curious human, I am proud to present my findings regarding the case of Cadderine Harver.

Yes, I hear you gasp at my use of the subject's full name, but in many ways, it is not even that anymore. This subject, to all intents and purposes, is now someone rather different, and no longer goes by the same name, no longer looks the same as she used to just months ago, no longer even inhabits the same sphere of existence as the mythical creature that Ms Harver's name now denotes.

Cadderine was brought to see me by her mother in a far less advanced state of Idolmorphosis than Tommy. Her breathing was normal, blood pressure average and healthy for a girl of her age and weight in line with recommended medical guidelines. There were no scars or defining marks on her, no signals of the self-harm and scar-worship so meticulously practised by her predecessor. In fact, cheery of disposition and dressed as she was, in a neat office suit (which her mother later pointed out to me was an exact replica of the one worn by Cadderine's Idolee in a certain popular franchise of films), I found myself racking my brains as to what could be wrong with this polite, seemingly well-adjusted young lady.

What gave it away? I hear you ask. Well after a series of behavioural tests, I was none the wiser myself. Her reaction times were perfectly reasonable and in all respects, she seemed like the perfect prototype of how a teenager should be. In fact, it was the smallest and most incidental of occurrences that led to my diagnosis. She nearly choked.

That's right. Forty-five minutes into our initial examination, Cadderine turned to the wall and put her hand to her mouth. I was about to ask her why she had performed this action when she began to convulse, coughing silently. As her face, first red, started to purple, I ran behind her and began to administer the Heimlich manouvre, as is, or should be, the natural reaction of any medical professional, and after three thrusts upwards into her ribcage, something flew from her lips. A ring.

"Cadderine, are you all right? I asked her as she sat, slumped in half, staring into the floor. I knelt down and picked up the ring, and dear colleagues, I believed for that split second that deja vu might be a plausible concept. I really did. It was yellow metal, not gold, and inset with cubic zirconia instead of diamonds, but I knew with absolute certainty I had seen that ring before, and very recently at that. I passed Cadderine a glass of water when she had recovered herself enough to sit upright, and after a brief examination from the nurse, I asked her if she would like to go home.

A moment passed, and then I jumped, as she turned suddenly towards me, licked her lips and looked me dead in the eye.

"Home? Well I'm not even sure where that is. Think you could take me, sailor?

The voice that issued forth from that young girl's mouth was not for one second the same one that had greeted me earlier. It sounded full, womanly and as composed as someone about to jump off a building at last.

And suddenly I knew where it was I had seen that ring. In exactly the same way I identified chunks of Tommy's speech and appearance, I realised that I was seeing a complete re-enactment of the opening scene of "Paint My Legs, one of my favourite films. The lead, Maren Gilligan, begins the film by swallowing her wedding ring in front of a doctor she is in love with, waiting for him to save her from suffocating on it.

It's meant to be a metaphor, I think, but that's not the point here. The point is this: I realised in that moment that I could have been seeing seeing the fledgling stages of my second ever reported case of Idolmorphosis, and I took the opportunity to observe Cadderine further. I instructed her mother not to worry about sedation, aromatherapy or whathaveyou, but to allow Cadderine to wander freely, and to keep a diary of her activities.

My learned colleagues, this is what we have been waiting for. This is history.