The Oblivion we will never have.

I’ve lost count of the articles about the couple caught by the kiss cam during a Coldplay concert. I’ve read some highly specific and legally-focused ones, and others more lighthearted, less concerned with legal dynamics and more interested in turning it into a viral sensation—aimed more at generating traffic and comments than understanding the implications. An impact that still remains unclear, because it’s been a long time since so many themes were packed into a few seconds and a handful of gestures involving two previously unknown people.

So, I decided to break down the analysis into pieces based on what frightened me most. I tried to put myself in their shoes and imagine how I would have reacted, and what I would have had to do if I became the unwilling subject of an infinite, global meme, with no regard for my privacy—or for my reputation, that elusive asset so hard to build and even harder to preserve. For days, I even debated whether to write this. I asked myself who it would serve, and whether it was truly necessary. Am I contributing to the visibility of topics the people involved would rather forget? In the end, I decided to follow a path aligned with my own values—raising awareness, sounding the alarm, and encouraging reflection on the critical weaknesses of hyperconnected systems too often marked by carelessness and cynicism.

Kiss cams are common in the U.S. It’s expected to be filmed if you resemble a cartoon or TV character while sitting at a sports game—people often laugh about it with friends. The cameraman follows a script, targeting “look-alike” moments. Sometimes celebrities are at games and get shown as lookalikes of themselves, usually going along with the joke and waving cheerfully at the camera; it ends there.

But it becomes more invasive when kiss cam participants become part of the event’s storytelling. Some anticipate it (if it’s a concert tour, it’s enough to watch the first date to know what’s coming next) and prepare signs, striking outfits, or messages to increase their chances of being filmed. Sometimes these are dedications or affirmations, declarations of love or celebrations of life milestones—a graduation, a quirky hat. At Coldplay concerts, it’s a moment of fan interaction. Chris Martin waits for the camera shot and improvises a lyric on the spot, dedicated to the featured fan.

What we often forget is that this moment of fame can happen to anyone. In most cases it’s welcome and anticipated—but not always. Whether or not you should be openly affectionate with someone in public is a judgment call. In this case, it was a poorly calculated risk. As for their immediate reaction—shock and an attempt to hide—it’s easy to analyze in hindsight. I’ve read a thousand times that if they had “played along,” the video would likely have remained a minor incident, limited to a few phones and only to concertgoers. But we’re not all expert strategists when we act out of instinct and self-protection.

What few noticed is that Chris Martin’s offhand comment—“They must be shy, or they’re having an affair”—acted as an accelerant. It planted the idea in everyone’s minds that they were witnessing something illicit or juicy—or both—worthy of being filmed and posted online. Remember the good old days when phones were used only for calling, and nobody recorded concerts?

That moment became magnetic. The video went viral in no time, endlessly reposted across social media.

At this point, we’re looking at two individuals in a jurisdiction (the U.S.) not particularly strong on privacy, who made the unfortunate decision to be affectionate in front of a camera. Technically, their image was lawfully captured—concert and event tickets usually include a disclaimer about potential filming and implied consent.

The true effect of the kiss cam lies in its amplification of the individual. Unlike a crowd shot, it spotlights your face, your gestures—you become the undisputed protagonist, if only briefly.

Legal protections at this stage are scarce, though some operators are considering using kiss cams more carefully, perhaps even warning selected people beforehand to avoid embarrassment. Think what would happen if a vulnerable person, someone ill or mentally fragile, were filmed without consent and became the target of a meme. We’ll return to this point.

An estimated 20,000 phones captured that scene and shared it online. At first, unless you personally knew them, you couldn’t identify the individuals. Still, their faces—recognizable, unpixelated—were data points that could lead to identification.

This is where facial recognition likely came into play, matching images against large databases (how legitimate or legal these databases are is another matter—under the GDPR, indiscriminate use of such tools is largely prohibited unless public safety is involved). Names began to circulate—first the CEO of a company, then the head of HR. Once names surfaced, a cascade of deeply private and increasingly irrelevant information followed.

What happened next was no accident: people began associating those names with their personal lives, behaviors, locations, and affiliations, playing digital detective à la Hercule Poirot—with more data and less ethics.

And then, the avalanche: reposted photos of family members, company accounts, addresses, affiliations. Every piece of the puzzle until the “truth” was discovered: the two were having an affair.

Now the public felt empowered to insult, mock, and shame them. The CEO’s questionable business reputation made it even easier—former employees used the opportunity to air grievances. The tone of the content was uniform: “He’s a bad person, so this is karma.”

But no matter how flawed someone is, social media does not give us the right to perpetually shame and accuse them. The behavior has a name: doxing.

Doxing is when identifying information is combined with personal data and published online with the intent (or effect) of shaming or harming someone—essentially feeding a stranger’s life and reputation to the crowd.

The consequences are enormous. No individual can defend themselves against such a vast wave of comments and content—especially when they originate across multiple legal jurisdictions. This event went global, sparking highly viral content, memes, and parodies that generated millions of comments in mere days.

Would you want to be in their shoes?
This raises crucial legal questions: about the proportionality of sharing, the right to identity and reputation, and the persistence of our rights even in viral spaces.
Let’s look at who used this content, and how.
There were countless individual comments—some extremely offensive—often under the mistaken belief that commenting on something already public is fair game. But the right to criticize doesn’t include the right to destroy someone’s dignity. And posting harmful content—even if already public—can qualify as **amplification harm**. Intent doesn’t always matter; what counts is the **actual damage** caused.

Worse still is when structured companies—not individuals—engage in parody or exploit the situation commercially. Some brands used the story or its imagery (or parody versions) to promote products. The harm in these cases is even clearer. One standout example: Ryanair, which made such aggressive use of the story that they translated their content into multiple languages to target global markets.

How much easier it would be if platforms not only enabled meme sharing, but also complied with privacy standards that allow affected individuals to request removal, even when content has spread globally. Better yet, they could avoid enabling unchecked sharing of any and all content. But in the U.S., Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act offers broad immunity to platforms. In Europe, the Digital Services Act (2024) imposes stricter obligations, but only if someone takes the initiative to report the content.

For now, we think this could only happen to an unpopular CEO on the other side of the world. But in reality, it could happen to any one of us, at any moment.

Let’s pause the online storm and focus on the real-life impact on those filmed.

Once names and job titles were matched, a flood of fake news followed—like a fabricated apology letter from the CEO, more concerned with being “caught” than with the actual conduct. The company later clarified that the letter was fake and released a formal, much drier statement explaining both employees were suspended.
Some were shocked that a mere workplace affair could lead to dismissal. But in U.S. (and many global) corporate environments—especially public companies—office relationship policies are long-established. Relationships exist, but so do rules.
Such relationships can disrupt internal balance, especially if promotions seem biased. It’s not just about being passed over—it’s about unfair advantage, perception, and corporate integrity. In small family-owned businesses, this doesn’t raise eyebrows: nepotism is normalized. But in larger firms, especially when transparency is key, emotional entanglements between executives can undermine the workplace.
Policies don’t always prohibit relationships—but they do require disclosure. I’ve seen beautiful workplace couples myself (we do spend most of our lives in the office, after all!). But disclosure is key—ideally early—and structural decisions must follow. One partner may need to switch departments or companies. Crucially, no one should be the direct manager of the other. Impact assessments are the company’s responsibility, balancing well-being and merit. If the relationship is hidden—especially a clandestine one—and one partner receives promotions unjustifiably, the company may choose to act decisively, as it did here.
Transparency is a precious value in organizations that aim, at least in theory, to ensure employee well-being and fairness in career development. Of course, it’s ironic that consensual relationships are punished, while mass layoffs are praised as genius corporate strategy—but we’ll save that conversation for another time.

So now, imagine being that suspended CEO, under public scrutiny, unable to leave your house without being ambushed by interviewers. Where do you even begin to recover, after becoming the world’s laughingstock?
On one hand, we hope people move on quickly—but unfortunately, the right to be forgotten, which functions relatively well in Europe under the GDPR, is nullified if content keeps circulating via likes, reposts, and shares.

The first step is probably legal action—identifying who triggered the viral storm and pressuring platforms to limit the spread. The ideal scapegoat? Chris Martin. His comment arguably ignited the chain of events. A lawsuit may not guarantee victory, but it could spark an important debate about image rights and the right to erasure—especially in jurisdictions where such protections already exist.

Then comes the turn to monetize the backlash—by suing the companies that shamelessly profited off the situation using **meme hijacking**, a highly effective (and ethically questionable) marketing strategy.

We’ll see what happens next.
Two final notes, to remind us why we should all tread carefully.

Virality isn’t always bad. Take the “Disappointed Cricket Fan” (Muhammad Sarim Akhtar), who turned his moment into a positive story—giving interviews and gaining legitimate fame.
But then there are tragic cases, like Tiziana Cantone, the Italian woman secretly recorded during a sexual act and publicly shamed long before “revenge porn” was recognized as a crime in Italy. She ultimately took her own life.
Even today, controversial videos circulate where people—sometimes barely identifiable—become memes. Before reposting someone’s breakdown, vulnerability, or pain, we should pause and ask: Who will this help? Why am I doing this? And what if it were me?

We’ve developed a tendency to act like vigilantes in an online Gotham City—filming injustices rather than reporting them, discussing sensitive topics without understanding them, sharing for attention without considering consequences.
The next viral victim could be someone you love, with no means to fight back against the tidal wave of exposure. That alone should make us more cautious.
Fortunately, European and Swiss laws tend to offer stronger protections, based on the understanding that even seemingly trivial but dangerous information can cause irreparable harm. But in a world already awash in damage, the first line of defense isn’t the law—it’s us.