Underside - Fame Vs Anonymity
As David Bowie once said: ‘Got to get a raincheck on pain (fame).’ Fame. What’s so good about it- Why do we live in a society that prides being famous above all else- Who wants to walk down the street with a blanket over their head- Why would you put yourself through the continuous public scrutiny and ridicule- All for what- To be in a few magazines and idolised by housewives and 16 year-olds.
I can think of nothing worse than being famous. Stalkers and paparazzi aside, don’t you think it would make life a million times harder when everything you do is under a public microscope-
No more going out with the girls and getting totally shitfaced and pissing your pants whilst walking through Darling Harbour at 3am.
No more going 18 months without waxing the landing strip and going to the beach, no one wants to see a ‘cougar on the loose’ headline with a zoom lens aimed at your crotch on a sunny day.
No more having an argument in public about why your partner is a complete moron.
Nope, forget it, all the great things about being a normal pleb go out the window as soon as you step onto the fame podium.
Being an anonymous pleb, a face in a sea of the masses is the greatest thing you could be. You can be anything and no one cares. Do you want to be homeless- Do you want to go on a crack binge and shave your head- Do you want to be a lipstick lesbian for a year- Go ahead! No one cares. Do you think anyone notices half the shit you do during the day- I bet if you left the room right now, no one would even notice what you wore to work today. No one cares; I know this because I don’t care.
It’s refreshing to be a non-entity, I can and do whatever I want. I can be a vegetarian gun-toting necrophiliac and no one would know; I could probably bring it up in polite conversation around the pub one night, but unless you’re someone worth knowing, it would fall on deaf ears.
I like that I don’t have to be polite to every jerk I meet on the street. Sometimes it’s nice to throw a tantrum at a complete stranger without worrying that its going to end up on an episode of ‘Celebrities Behaving Badly.’ It’s my right to glass you in the face with a bottle if my pizza took more than 45 mins to come out; why can’t I scream and wave my hands around when I travel all the way to the theme park only to have half the rides closed down for maintenance. Who wants to worry about press coverage if your very annoying neighbour goes ‘missing.’ Nope. don’t need that. If I’m going to kill you in the night, I need my privacy, so stay out of my bushes; I’m no one worth knowing.
If fame weren’t so great, then they wouldn’t have made a musical about it now would they- No one is going to pay $100 for tickets to a show about regular people. Regular borrrrring people. You people bore me.
Being famous is about more than the money, it’s about more than the fame even. Yeah, you can walk down a street in some rickety Singapore marketplace and still get recognised, but the ultimate great thing about fame is the total and utter acceptance of madness that people bestow upon you.
Sure they might be snickering at you behind their hands, but they are also wishing that they were that fabulous. Take Winona Ryder, ‘The Great Noni’ gets souped up on painkillers and goes on a shoplifting spree. Genius. Why are more people not doing this- Sure she had to go to court and had grand theft charges pressed against her, but she was captivating and looked brilliant the whole time. Would I rather watch some boring show about global warming, or news recaps about what Noni was wearing in court that day. Hands Down: Noni wins over environmental issues any day.
What’s not to love about being on people’s minds 24/7- Sure half those people thinking about you might be thinking about flaying you and eating you, but the rest of them probably just want to sit in your magnanimous presence, in awe of the inspiring things that might spew forth from their brilliant mouths.
And what’s not to love about being the centre of someone else’s universe, I have plenty of eyelashes and toenail clippings to go around; if it means never having to wait in lines again, free shwag, and a live-in stylist, I’ll do anything.
I think it would be handy to be followed around all the time, it would make the hassle of remembering things a lighter load on the brain. “What did I do last Wednesday-” Oh yeah, just trawl through the gossip websites for a recap.
Sure you might have to taser a few people every now and then when they step over the line, but wilfully inflicting injuries on regular boring people is totally acceptable. The difference between being famous and fab or boring and bland is the difference between day and night.
Fame allows a person to inject their son’s feet with botox to fix a foot odour problem. Fame lets you run around on television spouting ignorant facts about a science fiction religion. Fame means wearing a yellow all in one cat suit and being photographed rather than exiled.
You boring people with your regular jobs, and your 9 to 5 lives, living vicariously through the pages of a magazine, what would they do without you-
Who wants to cook their own eggs- Go to a travel agent- Find a cab- Yawn. Chosen Ones don’t bother themselves with such trivialities. They’re too busy; someone’s got to buy those diamond-encrusted handbags handmade by Norwegian elves.