When a much-loved celebrity dies in a sudden and shocking way, the immediate human desire is to find an explanation. We want to rationalise brutality. We need the reassurance. We kid ourselves that knowledge is a bulwark against falling into the same situation. If we know what caused it, the flawed reasoning goes, we can prevent it from happening again.

So it was that, in the days after Robin Williams took his life, media outlets were filled with speculation. Was it the threat of bankruptcy or career worries or a lifelong battle with addiction or a recent diagnosis of Parkinson's that made him confront the meaning of his existence?

The questions were futile. Depression is not a logical disease, a matter of straightforward cause and effect. Suicide is a devastating and complex beast. In truth, the only person capable of telling you why they did what they did has fatally absented themselves from the discussion. And sometimes, even they would be unable to pinpoint a reason.

But alongside the hopeless search for motivation, something else emerged in the aftermath of Williams's death. There was a lot of chatter surrounding the "stigma" of mental illness. Social networks were clogged with people urging others to seek help for their depression and not to feel "stigmatised" by their illness. There were magazine articles about mental health issues being "taboo" and how we must counteract this state of affairs by talking about our own struggles.

All of which is entirely admirable, but is there a stigma? The very fact that the internet was abuzz with people sharing their own stories of depression and encouraging others to do the same suggests that, thankfully, we live in a more accepting age. Most of us will know of close friends or family members who have dealt with depression. Some of us, myself included, will have experienced a form of it ourselves. Celebrities, too, have spoken out, fostering this culture of greater acceptance. The actresses Carrie Fisher and Catherine Zeta-Jones have talked about their bipolar disorders. Stephen Fry has written movingly about his depression.

As a result, I don't view mental illness as a scary, strange thing or as a form of weakness. Do you? I doubt it. And because we are talking more openly than we might have done in the past, many employers have become more attuned to dealing with it. If a workplace failed in this duty of care, there would, rightly, be outrage.

Stigma exists in other places – in the long-term care of the elderly, for instance: that unglamorous world of colostomy bags and daily drudgery we don't like to talk about because we're scared it lies ahead of us all.

There is still work to be done. An applicant for a job might feel less inclined to mention a history of mental health problems than, say, a battle with cancer. That is wrong. But bandying around the term "stigma" in reference to mental illness is unhelpful. It does precisely the opposite of what it intends to do: it means we're actually more likely to think of it in those terms because of the repeated association. Can't we just ditch the word?

What does "stigma" mean, anyway? The original definition has its roots in a Greek term that referred to the marking – by cutting or burning – of socially undesirable types such as criminals, slaves or traitors. Later, the Canadian sociologist Erving Goffman defined social stigma as "the phenomenon whereby an individual with an attribute which is deeply discredited by his/her society is rejected as a result of the attribute".

Does that apply to mental health? Increasingly, I would say the answer is no. Yes, we should keep talking about depression. Yes, we should be profoundly sensitive to those who grapple with it every day of their lives. But let's stop saying there's a stigma attached to it.

Cheers, Kate! But this champagne thing is a bit weird

There are many uses for a female breast, lactation and titillation among them. But perhaps the most bizarre of all is the Woman's Breast Functioning As Champagne Glass Mould.

It emerged last Thursday that the supermodel Kate Moss has kindly lent her left breast to the owners of a London restaurant so that they can model a champagne coupe in its shape. Personally, I'd rather not drink my alcohol from a hollowed-out piece of female anatomy. It seems, well, a bit weird. A touch Hannibal Lecter even. But apparently this kind of thing has historical precedent – the first champagne glass made in the 18th century was supposedly modelled on the left breast of none other than Marie Antoinette herself.

Which makes me wonder why no one pays any attention to the right breast. Won't it feel left out? Isn't there something we could use it for – an ashtray, perhaps, or a salt dish?

And why, while we're about it, should men be ignored in all this? A moulding of Ryan Gosling's adam's apple would surely make for an excellent egg holder?

The perfect gift, indeed, for the lady who has everything.

Dawkins and the Twitter delusion

In June, the evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins was reported as saying he believed the existence of fairytales was harmful to children. He later complained he had been misquoted and he'd actually been trying to say that encouraging a belief in the supernatural could be "pernicious" to young minds.

Last week, it seemed as if the existence of Richard Dawkins himself was far more imperilling to innocent children than any number of Little Red Riding Hoods. For some reason, Dawkins thought it would be a good idea to take to Twitter to express his views on Down's syndrome. Another user had posted that she would be faced with "a real ethical dilemma" if she became pregnant with a baby who had the condition. Dawkins, bashing away at his keyboard with the furious candour of a man for whom the threat of divine retribution holds no fear, replied: "Abort it and try again. It would be immoral to bring it into the world if you have the choice." There was an understandable outcry and Dawkins was later moved to claimed his stance was a logical extension of his pro-choice position while admit that the way he had made his remarks "may have been tactlessly vulnerable to misunderstanding".

Still, just because one has an opinion does not mean it must be expressed. Especially not on Twitter, where subtlety and nuance are, by necessity, reduced to 140 characters. Twitter is a forum for sharp, swift jabs of wit or gobbily launched hand grenades of deliberate controversy. Its patron saints are Katie Hopkins and Joey Barton. It is not the best place to convey intellectual nuance, unless you're linking to a longer article. There's no emoticon for "You might think what I'm saying is offensive, but actually it's just a rational follow-through of my previously held philosophies of life."

Until there is, perhaps Dawkins should take a break – or restrict himself to anodyne tweets about The Great British Bake Off.

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