You do not have to look closely at our society to realize many of our social values can be considered bizarre.
When a celebrity is in sight, it is an expected and accepted reaction to let out a squeal, jump up and down and whip out a cell phone to either call friends or take blurry, poor-quality photos.
I must admit that when I am at a concert and see my favorite band up on that stage, I can’t escape the stereotypical reaction of a fan. It is thrilling to see them with my own eyes, and I suddenly feel as if I am in the presence of greatness.
But when I take a step back, I realize that the lead singer from my favorite band is as much a stranger to me as someone walking past me in New York City. So why don’t I go running after the person I passed on the street, ask for his autograph and handshake?
The answer is simple: He’s not famous. But what makes him any less valuable or desirable to meet? Why do we so desperately try to reach out to the people who have no real presence in our lives, the people we see only on a stage or the big screen?
They appear in our lives daily, on our televisions or blaring out of our headphones. Yet we know that a majority of the time, what we see is not a true representation of who that person is. We fall in love with the images and representations of people, the person they choose to show on stage; the role they play in a movie.
People know the birthdays, relationship history and other minor details of celebrities who do not even know they exist. There is no reciprocal exchange. We’re nothing but another face in a cheering crowd, another hand stretching out from a sea of arms and jumping feet.
We wait in lines for hours for a handshake, autograph or photograph. And when one of us does shake the hand of a celebrity, or have them write their name down on a piece of paper, that moment is thereafter held in our memory as a thrilling and exciting moment, a time to tell friends and family about. But to the celebrity sitting on the opposite side of the table, the precious seconds to you mean nothing to them, and are forgotten when the next person on line steps up.
Why do these flashes in time hold so much significance to us? What makes celebrities any different from us, except that their professionally made-up faces land on the pages of magazines?
We can appreciate their work and acknowledge their talent, but I’m not sure that appreciation should translate into a crazed idealization. Celebrities then become untouchable creatures whom we merely want to see embodied, not artists whose abilities we admire.
It seems we want to forget they are human. But why must we fabricate gods on earth? Perhaps we should take a page out of the Koran and stop worshipping idols. When we do, we not only forget the actual worth of an actor or musician. In the jostling crowd, we seem to forget ourselves.