Celebrities

We have all done it – a sneaky glance at the trashy magazine of the person sitting next to us on the train. We ignore the groan from the intelligent side of our brain while our idleness craves to alleviate our mediocrity by investigating the hot and/or the not. Our sensible initial reaction of Why do I care? shifts, almost unnoticed, into Pfft, she’s not even talented before hitting rock-bottom with OMG! Look at those SHOES! Before you know it, you are reciting the names of every plastic Kardashian.

Whether you are fashion-conscious, a stickybeak or just too gutless to buy porn, gossip magazines are a perpetual source of fairytale wet dreams. Even the simplest of minds can notice a certain freedom with the facts, yet our predisposition to such floury fluff knows no bounds. Take the dedicated Woman’s Day reader who, when asked if she cared that the account of Kate Ritchie’s wedding was completely fake, answered: “It wouldn’t bother me that much because it’s the media.” Who is faking who exactly?

The cult of the celebrity is cyclical in shape and self-perpetuating in nature. Oprah once said, “If you come to fame not understanding who you are, it will define who you are.” Although the Daytime Queen sums up contemporary hero-worship perfectly, she readily bestows fame on all that she touches – even nations. A celebrity bloodbank, Oprah can donate her stardom to those deemed worthy; the plasma of which quickly regenerated by the wide-eyed adulation of the masses.

"I don't think there's ever been anyone like me that's lasted. 

And I'm going to keep on lasting." Paris Hilton

Royalty is the best and oldest example of hero-worship for its own sake. One need only contemplate the endless public admiration of a spoilt rich girl named Diana Spencer. While it is inaccurate to compare Diana to Justin Bieber*, she certainly had a way of capturing the imagination of the public. Great imagination it takes indeed to convince ourselves that she was anything more than a privileged, media-savvy opportunist who suited magazine covers and had poor taste in men. Such is the fascination with the ‘People’s Princess’ who embodies our childhood nursery rhymes to this day.

One cannot deny a lurid curiosity in the travails of the festering snatch that is Paris Hilton. Even Dianna seems palatable in comparison to this septic discharge of a woman. She is the best and worst of celebrities; famous for being famous. Reducing stardom to pure simplicity, Paris lives up to Oprah’s maxim. For a new generation, recognition has become the reason for existence, not the occupation, passion or talent that once preceded recognition. Examples of this phenomenon are too numerous to warrant discussion.**

Our appetite for juicy gossip and hero-worship shows no signs of slowing. The ancient Greeks loved their gods and heroes; not because they were infallible, but because they had faults, often quarrelled and were constantly sleeping with each other. Celebrities today have a similar power. The desire to know intimate details about stars’ lives makes us feel closer and more involved – like we know them as friends or nemeses. The projection of the perfect and the popular on a luminous pedestal reflects the childlike desires for acceptance that lurk in our collective subconscious.

* The latter being the only one with any discernible talent or ability

** With the exception of Dogman