There’s something deeply unsettling about our modern obsession with fame. Apparently, society has collectively decided that the true pinnacle of human achievement is securing those infamous “fifteen minutes of fame.” That’s now the ultimate validation, like a shiny participation trophy for simply existing under the right spotlight. Honestly, it’s almost admirable what people will do to achieve it; but much of the time it’s also quite sad.
We’ve reached an era where star power is less about talent and more about constant visibility. Between the 24-hour news cycle and the unholy alliance of social media and smartphones, we’ve become trapped in an endless barrage of celebrity gossip. We’re living in a world that screams at us constantly! “You want constant updates?” mass media asks us, completely unbidden. “Here’s someone’s outfit malfunction in real-time.” Thus, we have news feeds bloated with either violence or celebrity mishaps. You know, that’s the truly uplifting content we all crave…
Now, don’t get me wrong; it’s sweet when a famous couple has a baby. We all love a good celebrity birth announcement, right? The moment I hear about one of my favorite celebrity’s offspring, my day is made. But, I don’t need to know which Whole Foods they were spotted at, what shade of beige they were wearing, or whether their organic, gluten-free, soy-infused kombucha of choice was sold out. Are we, as a species, so bereft of real entertainment that we’ve turned supermarket sightings into newsworthy events?
Still, dumb as it may be, it’s fascinating to watch the slow unraveling of celebrities under this magnifying glass. They’re just ordinary people, albeit ones with suspiciously perfect teeth and absurdly overpriced handbags likely made in sweatshops. Yet they’ve been elevated to god-like status by our collective adoration. So, then we act surprised when they do something truly ridiculous, like launching into a public meltdown or throwing a tantrum about their avocado toast being too crunchy. Imagine having someone follow you around with a smartphone, documenting every poorly chosen outfit, every accidental eyeroll. I mean, I’ve barely made it out of the house in an outfit that didn’t resemble a pajama catastrophe; so, what’s their excuse?
For celebrities, “Big Brother” isn’t a dystopian nightmare; it’s just another Wednesday hump to crawl over. With the constant scrutiny and the endless judgment for every blink and breath they take, it’s no wonder so many of them seem to spiral into what can only be described as high-functioning lunacy. That kind of pressure would break even the most stoic mortals. Although, to be fair, some celebrities are clearly thriving in this havoc. I can only assume they’ve made peace with the absurdity of being simultaneously worshipped and ridiculed by millions of strangers.
But for those who don’t thrive on it, they disappear—at least the smart ones do. They retreat into some remote, undisclosed location where TMZ can’t track them down, only to reemerge when their publicist gives the all-clear. Honestly, good for them. If I could vanish every time my phone pinged with an inane notification, I’d be writing this from a hermit’s shack deep in the woods.
But really, can we talk about the attention-mongers? There are people so obsessed with celebrities that they’ve made a career—or at least a full-time hobby—out of tracking their every move. Truly, if these people channeled even half of that energy into something productive, we could probably cure most diseases and reverse climate change by the weekend. But no, instead they’re still out there dissecting which actor wore last season’s shoes to a red-carpet event. Yeah, such riveting stuff…
I hope that one day, this starstruck society of ours will get bored of this silliness. Maybe we’ll wake up and think, “You know what? Today I’m going to care about something other than a pop star’s vacation photos.” Perhaps the next great media sensation could be, I don’t know, a doctor saving lives. Or it could be a teacher shaping young minds. Imagine a world where community leaders are celebrated with the same enthusiasm as reality TV stars. Wouldn’t that be something?
Until then, I’ll be here, watching the slow-motion car crash that’s celebrity culture, snickering behind my morning caffeinated beverage, wondering if the next big headline will be about who’s going to have the next catastrophic wardrobe malfunction.
~ Amelia Desertsong
