https://amgreatness.com/2025/07/13/no-list-no-revelations-no-plot-just-epstein/
In the moderately large compendium of things I do not care about, details of the depravity of the late Jeffrey Epstein occupy a random page or two.
I had never heard of the “financier” and sex-trafficking impresario until shortly before his final encounters with the law in 2019. Like many, I received the news that he committed suicide in a New York jail in August of that year with a dollop of incredulity. Where were the jailers? Why was there a missing spot on the videotape just when the deed was done? Had Epstein threatened Hillary Clinton? What about that picture of Bill Clinton in a blue dress that was found in Epstein’s New York home?
There was plenty of food for doubt.
Unlike many, however, my incredulity was seasoned with indifference.
Okay, Epstein was a creep of the first order. He had attracted a bunch of famous men to his Caribbean island for sex romps with (mostly) underage girls. He apparently liked to videotape the proceedings. Why? In order to blackmail those stars of stage and screen was the consensus, natch. But did he?
I was glad that Epstein was nabbed by the law. I hoped his victims found recompense. But in the scheme of things, The Saga of Jeffrey Epstein was a narrative I was pleased to absorb in a highly distilled, cheat-sheet version. I’d lived through such entertainments as the anatomies of Bill Clinton’s odd taste in cigars. Epstein was worse, but from the point of view of the spectator’s interest, it seemed cut from the same bolt of cloth.
I understand that the public’s appetite for scandal is a hardy perennial. The story of who is doing what to whom—especially if the “who”s are celebrities—is calculated to give prurient interest the gratifying cover of “the public’s right to know,” not to mention an opportunity to indulge in a little tongue-clucking moral outrage.