Welcome back to the deep dive. Usually when we
sit down here, we are looking outward. We're
analyzing a historical event, breaking down a
new piece of technology or perhaps you know looking
at a specific figure in science or literature
but today we are doing something a little different
we are turning the camera around we are looking
at the lens itself it's a bit of an uncomfortable
pivot honestly it forces a bit of uh introspection
it really does because today we are talking about
celebrity culture and i think the knee -jerk
reaction when you hear that phrase celebrity
culture is to think about right The famous people.
The actors, the musicians, the influencers, the
people walking the red carpets. We think about
the glitz, the scandals, the private jets. But
digging into this stack of research, the articles,
the sociology papers, the history, it hits you
pretty hard that celebrity culture isn't actually
about the celebrities. No, that is the fundamental
twist in all the literature we reviewed. It's
a complete misnomer in a way. It's about us.
Entirely. If we stopped looking. The culture
would cease to exist. It's a fascinating dynamic
because it's a phantom structure. A phantom structure.
I like that. It feels incredibly solid. I mean,
it generates billions of dollars. It dictates
elections. It changes how we dress. But it exists
solely because of a collective, synchronized
desire to watch other people live their lives.
So it's an atmosphere. It is an atmosphere that
we, the consumers, actively create. It's not
a thing. It's a behavior. That's a heavy start.
And we are going to get into the psychology of
why we do that. But before we get into the why,
we need to ground this with a definition. Sure.
Because culture is a word we throw around loosely.
We talk about French culture, corporate culture,
counterculture. But the sources provided a specific
definition for celebrity culture that I found
really helpful in distinguishing it from those
others. Right. And that distinction is key. Usually
when anthropologists or sociologists use the
word culture, they are talking about a physically
identifiable group of people. You know, a group
that shares a language, a specific location,
shared traditions, maybe a shared religion or
shared history. You can point to a map and say,
here is where this culture lives. But celebrities
don't fit that box. Not at all. Think about it
practically. A linebacker for the NFL, a K -pop
star in Seoul, a politician in Washington, and
a reality TV star in, I don't know, New Jersey.
Right. They don't form a cohesive group. They
don't all hang out in one village. They don't
have a shared religion. They barely have shared
values. So a serious method actor in New York
might have absolutely nothing in common with
an influencer in Los Angeles. Less than nothing,
probably. They might actively dislike each other's
entire way of life. So if they don't share a
location or values, how is it a culture? What
holds it together? The culture is defined entirely
by the audience. Ah. It is defined by the willingness
of regular people, you and me, to alter our own
lives, to partake in the lives of famous people.
How so? What do you mean by alter our lives?
I mean, we change our schedules to watch them.
We change our spending habits to mimic them.
We change our conversations to discuss them.
The cohesive element isn't the celebrity. It's
the reaction to the celebrity. So the culture
is the reaction, not the source. That is a crucial
distinction. Precisely. The working definition
we found in the source material is that celebrity
culture is the high volume exposure to celebrities'
personal lives on a global scale. High volume
feels like the understatement of the century
these days. It does. It feels like the volume
knob broke off about 10 years ago and it's just
been stuck on max ever since. Right. There is
no off switch. So our mission today is to figure
out how this machine works. We want to tear apart
the mechanics of it. How does this function as
an industry? How does it drive consumer behavior?
And how do we get from reading gossip columns
in the 1930s to having algorithmic feeds dictating
our self -worth today? And to understand the
algorithm, you have to understand the gossip
column. The DNA is remarkably similar. It's just
faster now. So let's go back, because it feels
like celebrities have always been with us. I
mean... Fame isn't new. We've had famous kings
and generals from millennia. But the research
suggests this specific ecosystem, celebrity culture
with a capital C, has a start date. It wasn't
always this way. It does have a start date. I
mean, yes, fame is ancient. We can touch on that
later. The pharaohs, Alexander the Great, sure.
But the system. The industrial complex of fame.
That really begins in the United States in the
late 19th century. We're talking the Gilded Age.
Exactly. The late 1800s. And this distinction
is crucial because it changes the why of same.
Okay. If you look at New York in, say, the 1870s,
the concept of being well -known was very different.
The people who were famous were philanthropists,
politicians, generals. Public figures. Public
figures who did things for the civic good. Fame
was tied to achievement or contribution. You
were famous because you built a library or you
won a war or you passed law. The fame was secondary
to the act. Exactly. The fame was a byproduct
of the work. It wasn't the goal. But fast forward
just 20 years to the 1890s and you see the emergence
of the new elite. The nouveau riche. The nouveau
riche. And the sources point out a fascinating
shift here. They weren't necessarily seeking
respect in the traditional sense. They were seeking
publicity. This is the birth of famous for being
famous. In a way, yes. This is the seed. They
wanted to be in the society columns. By the 1890s,
sociologists note that people were being celebrated
specifically for their gossip value. Gossip value.
That's a term that needs a definition. What does
that actually mean in this context? It means
your life is interesting to narrate. It's not
about your moral standing or your professional
output. It's about the drama, the aesthetics,
the social maneuvering, who you're seen with,
what you're wearing. It's the shift from value
to society to value as entertainment. Yes, that's
it. It's the realization that one's personal
life could be a spectator sport. And the technology
was shifting at the same time, right? You can't
have a spectator sport without a way to broadcast
it. Correct. This is the other half of the equation.
You hit the period between 1895 and 1920, which
one film historian we read cites as the birth
of the modern celebrity system. The film era.
This is when the film industry kicks into gear.
Suddenly, you have faces, human faces, that can
be seen by millions of people simultaneously,
up close. That must have been psychologically
jarring. I mean, think about it. Before that,
you only saw people you knew or maybe a painting
of a king if you were lucky. It was revolutionary.
It created a pseudo intimacy. You saw their eyes,
their expressions, their emotions, huge on a
screen. And the media infrastructure, it just
built up around it instantly. Which brings us
to the 30s and 40s. Right. By the 1930s and 40s,
this culture is cemented through figures like
Walter Winchell. Winchell, the name came up a
lot in the notes. For those who don't know, paint
the picture of who this guy was. Walter Winchell
was the gossip columnist. If you imagine a fast
-talking newsman in a fedora from an old black
and white movie, Speaking in that staccato rhythm.
I can hear it now. You were imagining Walter
Winchell. He had that urgent voice. But he realized
something profound about the American public.
He realized that people didn't just want to know
what movie a star was in. That's boring. That's
trade news. It's an advertisement. They wanted
to know who they were dating. They wanted to
know what they were eating. They wanted to know
who they were fighting with at the stork club.
He commodified the private life? He did. He was
the most celebrated gossip writer in America,
and he proved that there was an insatiable market
for the trivial. He proved that the public would
consume information about the personal lives
of strangers as if it were vital news. It's interesting
because we often look down on that impulse today,
right? We call it trashy. We say, oh, I don't
care about the Kardashians or I don't read the
tabloids. But there is a psychological reason
we crave it. There is a quote in our reading
from Louis Lapham from his book, The Wish for
Kings, that really stopped me in my tracks. I
know exactly the one. It's quite provocative.
He doesn't pull any punches. No, he does not.
He wrote, to people who have grown tired of self
-government, the belief in kings and queens and
fairy tales seems easier than the practice of
politics. It cuts deep. It frames celebrity culture
not as a hobby, but as a retreat, as an escape.
It sounds like he's saying we are lazy. I think
he's saying we are exhausted. Okay. Lapham is
suggesting that celebrity culture is a form of
surrender. Think about what democracy asks of
you. Citizenship is demanding. It really is.
It requires you to pay attention to tax policy,
to economics, to zoning laws. It requires compromise
with people you disagree with. It's hard intellectual
work. But a monarchy or, you know, a celebrity
dynasty. A monarchy is a fairy tale. It's a soap
opera. You don't have to do anything. You just
watch. You admire the jewels. You critique the
wedding dress. You pick a favorite character.
You can project your fantasies onto them. It's
passive. It's a comfort mechanism. It simplifies
the world. So in a way, we treat celebrities
like modern royalty, not because they deserve
it, but because it comforts us. It simplifies
the world into regular people and people on the
pedestal. It imposes a hierarchy. A hierarchy
that feels natural, even if it's completely artificial.
It orders the universe. And the sources point
out that this isn't entirely new. The pharaohs
of ancient Egypt used massive architectural devices,
pyramids, statues. to ensure their fame lasted
for centuries. Right. They were branding themselves
for the afterlife. Exactly. Religious texts are
full of well -known figures. Humans have always
looked up. But the difference today is the scale
and the machinery. Right. The pharaoh didn't
have a 24 -hour cable news network analyzing
what he had for breakfast. Or an Instagram feed
tracking his every move. The globalization of
media means that celebrity culture is no longer
contained within a single village or nation.
It's ubiquitous. You cannot escape it. It is
the wallpaper of modern life. Okay, let's talk
about that machinery. Because one of the key
takeaways for me was that you cannot separate
celebrity culture from consumer culture. No.
They aren't just cousins. They're conjoined twins.
They're the same organism. We have to stop looking
at celebrity as art and start looking at it as
an industry. The celebrity industry treats the
celebrity as a product to be sold. It is a weird
kind of product. It's a recursive loop. It feeds
itself. Walk us through the loop. How does the
money actually move? Okay. Step one. You, the
consumer, buy a magazine or download an app to
follow a celebrity. That's the first transaction.
You are paying either with money or, more likely
today, with your attention and data to watch.
Okay, I'm watching. I'm scrolling through my
feed. Step two. You see what the celebrity is
wearing. You see what coffee they're drinking.
You see what car they drive. You see the lifestyle.
And because I admire them or I want to be like
them or I just think they look cool, I go buy
that coffee or that handbag. Right. So now consumers'
choices are influenced by celebrity choices.
But here is step three, which is the insidious
part. The trap. The trap. By buying the products
that the celebrity endorses, or even just the
products that allow you to watch the celebrity,
you are unknowingly perpetuating the culture.
You are funding the machine that keeps them famous.
You are paying for the pedestal. So we are actively
building the cage we are staring into. Constantly.
Every click is a brick in the wall. Every purchase
is another bar on the cage. And the celebrities
know this. They aren't passive victims of this
machine, at least not the successful ones. Oh,
not at all. They're operators. The concept of
self -branding came up a lot in the notes. Define
that for us, because branding usually applies
to toothpaste or sneakers. It feels strange to
apply it to a human being. Self -branding is
the conscious effort to package your personality
as a marketable asset. Celebrities are keenly
aware that they can brand themselves to achieve
financial gain that is totally separate from
their actual talent. So you might be a mediocre
actor, but a genius brand. Exactly. Or you might
be a great actor, but your brand as a lifestyle
guru or a fashion icon might make you more money
than your movies do. Look at this shift in the
last 20 years. It used to be that an actor acted,
and that was it. Now they have a tequila brand,
a makeup line, a podcast, and a production company.
It's the difference between being an actor and
being a mogul. It's all about diversifying the
brand portfolio. And this is where the role of
mass media becomes the critical engine. There's
a theory by Oliver Driesens mentioned in the
research that traces celebrity social prominence
directly to the success of mass media technologies.
It makes perfect sense. The medium dictates the
message, and it dictates the star. You can't
have a radio star without radio. You can't have
a TikTok star without a smartphone. Let's trace
that evolution because it explains how we got
to where we are now. We started with film visual,
distant, larger than life. Then came television.
Television was a massive shift because it brought
people into our homes. That phrase is a cliche,
but it's psychologically potent. It is. It created
a sense of familiarity that didn't exist with
silent films. You heard their voices in your
living room. You saw them every week. They became
like neighbors. The barrier of the screen got
thinner. But then came the 24 -7 news cycle.
And the source material argues this was the real
turning point for manufactured celebrity. That
was the game changer. Think about the logistics
of a 24 -hour news network. CNN, Fox. MSNBC,
you have to fill 24 hours a day, seven days a
week. So much time. There simply isn't enough
hard news, enough wars, enough elections, enough
natural disasters to fill that time responsibly.
So you have a void, a silence that needs to be
filled. A massive gaping void. So what fills
the time? Entertainment, gossip, speculation.
What does this mean? Exactly. And this need for
content led to manufactured celebrities. In the
1930s or 50s, stars were often self -made in
the sense that they rose through a studio system
based on a skill singing, dancing, acting. You
had to be able to do something. Right. There
was a craft involved. But with 247 coverage,
the media needed bodies to fill the airtime.
They needed faces to talk about. This paved the
way for reality TV. Which fostered a culture
where fame is interchangeable. You don't need
to be the best singer. You just need to be the
most willing to live your life on camera. And
highly recognizable. Reality TV proved that you
would take an ordinary person, put them in a
pressure cooker environment, and create a celebrity
product that is just as valuable to advertisers
as a movie star. Maybe even more valuable. Maybe.
Because they are cheaper to produce. You don't
have to pay them $20 million a film. This brings
us right up to the present day, or at least the
last decade, the digital shift. If TV brought
celebrities into our living rooms, social media
put them in our pockets. In our beds, even. And
it changed the texture of fame completely. It
changed the texture because it changed the expectation
of intimacy. Let's break down the platforms because,
as you said, the medium dictates the culture.
Each platform incentivizes a different behavior.
Okay, let's start with Twitter. Or X as it's
known now. The research points out that this
platform increased the frequency of interaction.
Right. Before Twitter, if a fan wanted to communicate
with a star, what did they do? They wrote a letter.
They mailed it. Maybe six months later, they
got a signed photo from a publicist. So there
was a huge buffer. A huge buffer. Time and distance
protected the celebrity. Twitter collapsed that
buffer. Completely. It created an unmonitored,
unfiltered space. Fans could tweet at a star
and the star could reply in seconds. This created
an expectation of a public response. It made
the celebrity feel accessible. They're just like
me. They're tweeting about their lunch. But it
also removed the mystery. And it created a minefield.
Oh, a huge minefield. Unfiltered opinions mean
high risk. One bad tweet can destroy a career.
And then you have Instagram. This feels like
the visual language of modern celebrity. Instagram
is visual first, which creates a different kind
of intimacy. It's about sharing the behind the
scenes. But we have to talk about the feed algorithm.
The source material highlights this as a crucial
driver. This is technical but vital. The algorithm
determines visibility. It decides what you see.
So celebrities are forced to adapt their behavior,
what they post, when they post, how they look,
to satisfy the code. Wait, say that again? They
have to change their behavior for the code? Yes.
If the algorithm favors high contrast photos,
they post high contrast photos. If it favors
controversy, they post controversy. If it favors
10 second videos, they make 10 second videos.
So the algorithm is actually directing the culture.
It's not just reflecting it. The machine is telling
the human how to act to stay relevant. It acts
as a feedback loop. And the public mimics it.
Fans start imitating the clothing, the poses,
the speech patterns they see on the app. It leads
to a homogenization of culture driven by code.
We all start looking the same because we are
all optimizing for the same algorithm. Pretty
much. And we can't forget Facebook. It's still
a major player, especially for older demographics.
It lets people share posts that are important
to them, which often includes celebrity news
or activism. Right. It's a different kind of
sharing ecosystem. YouTube. This is where the
idea of relatability really gets weaponized,
and I use that word carefully. It's the rise
of the influencer or the YouTuber. Think about
the aesthetic, the vlog style. Talking directly
to the camera, often in a bedroom, often without
professional lighting. The camera's handheld,
maybe a bit shaky. It feels raw. It feels honest.
It feels like you're on FaceTime with them. That's
the trick. The source material contrasts this
with movie stars. Movie stars are distant. They
are lit by professionals, scripted by professionals.
They feel untouchable. But YouTubers look like
your friends. And that creates a strong bond
with the viewer. It feels reciprocal, even though
it isn't. You feel like you know them personally.
The Justin Bieber example was interesting here.
He was discovered on YouTube. Yes. And that origin
story matters immensely. Because he wasn't manufactured
by a studio initially. He was a kid with a guitar
on the internet. He felt authentic. It elicited
emotional ties and a sense of ownership from
fans, particularly his early female fans. They
felt like they discovered him. They felt like
they made him. So it's not just that you're a
fan of his music. You're a fan of him, the project
you helped build. And that creates a much more
intense, sometimes obsessive loyalty compared
to a star who is just handed to you by Hollywood.
This leads us to a term that I hadn't heard before
reading the stack. Micro -celebrity. It sounds
like an insult like, you're famous, but only
a little bit. It does, but it's actually a technical
term. Okay. It was coined by Teresa Sendeff back
in 2008 in her book, Cam Girls. It has two meanings,
and the second one is the one that really matters
for us. Okay. What's the first meaning? First,
it simply means being well -known to a niche
group. You can be a celebrity in the knitting
community or the competitive gaming community,
even if the rest of the world has no idea who
you are. Which is more common now than ever because
the internet allows for endless niches. You can
be the most famous person in the world to 10
,000 people. Exactly. But the second meaning
is more interesting. It refers to a technique.
It's a self -representation technique where ordinary
people present themselves as public personas.
Wait, break that down. Ordinary people acting
like public personas. Yes. Even if you only have
500 followers on Instagram, mostly your friends
and family, if you are curating your life for
them, if you are viewing them as an audience
or fans, if you are using hashtags to grow your
reach. You are practicing micro -celebrity. You
are. You are managing your brand. Wow. So when
I carefully choose the filter for my vacation
photo because I want my friends to think I'm
having the time of my life, I'm engaging in celebrity
culture. You are. That is the celebrification
of everyday life. The media plays a key role,
but we have internalized the logic of the celebrity
industry. We brand ourselves. We manage our public
image. You worry about our ratings, which we
call likes. That is slightly depressing. It explains
the anxiety, doesn't it? It explains why so many
people feel this constant pressure. It does.
It's not just about living your life. It's about
performing it. Exactly. And that performance
requires an audience. Which brings us to the
psychology of the fan. Why do we watch? Why do
we gossip? Yeah, I wanted to push back on the
idea that gossip is just trashy. I think that's
a lazy dismissal. The expert analysis in our
sources suggests it actually serves a real social
function. It does. Anthropologists and sociologists
have argued for a long time that gossip is an
integral part of social order. It's a form of
communication. It allows for civic engagement.
Oh, how is talking about a movie star's divorce
civic engagement? Think about it. When we talk
about a celebrity scandal, say a messy divorce
or a drug problem or a tax evasion charge. We
aren't just talking about them. We are talking
about us. We're talking about our values. We
are affirming our own values. When we say, can
you believe he did that? We're actually saying
we agree that doing that is bad. We are calibrating
our moral compasses against the behavior of a
public figure. It helps us reinforce social norms
without having to get personal. Right. It creates
community. It creates social involvement. It's
a safe way to discuss difficult topics. Infidelity,
addiction, wealth, parenting, without having
to talk about our own messy lives. or the lives
of our neighbors, which might be too confrontational.
It's safer to judge a Kardashian than to judge
your sister -in -law. Infinitely safer. So the
celebrity becomes a proxy. We use them to work
through our own societal issues. Okay, that makes
a lot of sense. But while the fans are getting
social connection out of it, the celebrities
themselves seem to be getting the short end of
the stick. They often are. We have this data
regarding celebrity disillusionment, the dark
side. The dark side is very real. There is a
general correlation between success and unhappiness
that isn't limited to Hollywood. One study noted
that CEOs are depressed at more than double the
rate of the general public. Which is counterintuitive.
We are taught that money and power equal happiness.
If you have the jet, you should be smiling. But
the research suggests we focus on objective success.
Wealth, status, reputation, those are things
you can measure. But happiness comes from subjective
success, relationships, self -worth, moral introspection.
And celebrity culture. Celebrity culture maxes
out the objective metrics but often destroys
the subjective ones. It isolates you. It puts
you in a bubble. And the paparazzi play a huge
role in that destruction. It's the paparazzi
problem. It leads to objectification. Fans develop
what's called celebrity worship syndrome. where
the empathy for the human being evaporates. They're
no longer a person, they're an object, a thing
to be consumed. And for the celebrity, the loss
of anonymity is traumatic. The sources describe
celebrities having to split into two identities.
The public image and the private self. And you
have to constantly police the border between
the two. That sounds exhausting, to never really
be yourself, because the self is a product. And
it's worse for child stars. The research on this
is pretty clear and pretty grim. It suggests
poor emotional health and higher rates of drug
abuse in adulthood for those who get famous young.
Why is that? They never get the chance to form
a private self before the public one is imposed
on them. Their identity is hijacked before it's
even fully formed. And there's a hierarchy to
it, too. The stress of the A -list versus B -list
culture. Oh, absolutely. The stress of fighting
to stay on the A -list versus slipping to the
B -list, or God forbid, the C -list. It creates
a state of constant anxiety. You're always one
flop away from irrelevance. There was that example
of Bart Spring in It Felt. He was the first winner
of Big Brother. Yes, the reality TV pioneer.
He was there at the very beginning of the craze.
He got what everyone thought they wanted. And
what happened? He came to loathe the reality
TV culture he helped instigate. He achieved the
fame, saw the machine from the inside, and regretted
it. It's a common story. The prize isn't what
you think it is. It's not just entertainment,
though. This culture has bled heavily into politics.
And I don't think you can talk about the modern
world without talking about the intersection
of celebrity and governance. They have merged
significantly. And it goes both ways. You have
celebrities becoming politicians and politicians
becoming celebrities. The line is blurry. If
it exists at all anymore. So let's look at the
first category, celebrities becoming politicians.
We've seen this at the highest levels. Ronald
Reagan is the classic example. A career actor,
53 films. He was a creature of the studio system.
He knew how to hit a mark. He knew how to deliver
a line. He understood lighting. He understood
performance. And he transferred that name recognition
and screen presence into the governorship of
California and then the presidency. He understood
that leadership is, in part, a performance. And
more recently, Donald Trump. Right. A businessman,
yes. Yeah. But primarily a brand licensor and
a reality TV star. The Apprentice gave him a
national platform where he played the role of
the decisive boss for over a decade. So people
felt like they knew him. They knew the character,
yes. And the source material notes his use of
controversy to maintain media attention, like
with the birtherism thing, is a direct application
of celebrity logic to political campaigning.
He understood the news cycle better than the
career politicians did. And then you have the
other lane, politicians becoming celebrities.
This is where the squad comes in. AOC, Ilhan
Omar, Ayanna Pressley, Rashida Tlaib. The source
notes they formed via an Instagram post. An Instagram
post. They use the colloquial term squad goals.
They understood the visual language of social
media. They are masters of the clapback. They
speak the language of the Internet. And Justin
Trudeau in Canada. Yes. His celebrity status
is derived from being perceived as personable
and progressive. He has a fan base in a way that
traditional politicians often don't. He appears
in selfies. He wears fun socks. It's a branding
exercise. Why is this happening? Is it just vanity
or is it a necessity in the modern landscape?
I think it's strategy. One observer in the materials,
Jane Johnson, noted that celebrity gossip is
a nationally unifying factor. What does that
mean? It bridges social groups. People from all
walks of life will talk about a royal wedding
or a big movie premiere. So if you want to reach
young voters who statistically vote less, you
have to go where their attention is. To the culture
they're already consuming. Right. So politicians
mimic celebrity personas to tap into that cultural
resource. So being boring is a political liability
now. In a media saturated environment, yes. If
you can't hold attention, you can't win votes.
Policy is boring. Personality is exciting. We
also see celebrities using their platform for
activism. Jane Fonda getting arrested for climate
change protests. Katy Perry campaigning for Hillary
Clinton. Dave Chappelle endorsing Andrew Yang.
It's become expected almost. But there is a tension
there. The famous quote attributed to Michael
Jordan, Republicans buy sneakers too. Right.
The conflict between commerce and politics. The
fundamental tension. If you are a brand, taking
a political stance alienates half your market.
So there's a constant calculation. How much of
my brand capital can I spend on this issue before
I hurt the bottom line? It's cynical, but it's
the reality of the industry. OK, now I want to
move to something a bit darker. We've talked
about fame, but we also need to talk about infamy.
Because it feels like the modern machine doesn't
distinguish between famous for doing good and
famous for being bad. Attention is just attention.
That is a major complaint about modern culture.
Infamy has replaced merit. Society rewards those
who are willing to break ethical boundaries or
be aggressive self -promoters. If you can create
a spectacle, you get the microphone. It's the
bad publicity is better than no publicity rule
taken to its extreme. Chuck Palahniuk, the author
of Fight Club, has a theory about this that is
quite disturbing but compelling. What is it?
He argues that we create celebrities as godlike
figures specifically to destroy them. Wow. We
need the drama. We need the spectacle of the
takedown. We get a thrill from their downfall.
So we build the pedestal just so you can watch
them fall off. Tabloids are the prototype of
this. They build you up, they find the flaw,
and then they tear you apart. It's a sacrificial
ritual. We sacrifice the celebrity to make ourselves
feel better about our own limitations. We want
to see that they are human, flawed, and broken,
just like us. And sometimes a fame only comes
after you're gone. The section on posthumous
fame was really interesting. It's the ultimate
irony. You struggle in obscurity your whole life,
and then you die, and suddenly you're an icon.
Van Gogh is the cliche. He's the poster child.
Sold one painting in his life, now priceless.
But it happens constantly, especially with musicians.
Nick Drake. Jeff Bugley. Robert Johnson. These
are people whose genius was only recognized when
they weren't around to enjoy it. Their story
became more compelling once it had a tragic ending.
The art gets re -evaluated through the lens of
tragedy. And then you have Alfred Nobel. His
story is unique. It's not like the others. It
is not. He established the Nobel Prizes specifically
to fix his legacy before he was even dead. Why
did it need fixing? I thought he was just an
inventor. Because of a mistake. His brother died,
but a newspaper thought it was Alfred who had
passed away. So they printed an obituary for
him. He read his own obituary. He read his own
obituary, and the headline was, The Merchant
of Death is Dead. Oh, wow. Because he had invented
dynamite and made a fortune from war. He saw
that headline and was horrified. He realized,
this is how I'm going to be remembered. As a
merchant of death. So the prizes were a PR move.
The greatest PR move of all time. He used his
massive fortune to create the prizes for peace,
science, and literature. He effectively rebranded
himself posthumously while he was still alive.
He bought a new legacy. That is incredible. Talk
about controlling the narrative. And then you
have a modern version, like the Bob Ross effect.
Bob Ross, the painter on public television, the
guy with the afro and the happy little trees.
Right. He was known in his time, but he wasn't
a global superstar. Now, years after his death,
he is an internet deity. He's a meme, a brand,
a symbol. A symbol of what? Of something we lost.
Calm. Gentleness. The internet culture adopted
him because he represented peace in a world of
chaos. It makes you wonder if some people crave
that legacy more than life itself. Well, there
are examples of people staging their deaths.
The sources mention the prankster Alan Abel and
the comedian Pauly Shore. The desire to know...
will I be missed or will I be famous can drive
extreme behavior. This brings us to the final
historical figure I want to discuss. Someone
I had never heard of, but who seems to be the
patron saint of modern internet trolls and fame
seekers. Peristratus. Peristratus. Ancient Greece,
356 BC. This story, it just sums up everything
we've talked about. It's chilling how relevant
it is. Who was he? He was nobody. He wasn't a
king. He wasn't a general. He was a young man
who wanted to be immortal. He wanted his name
to live forever. But he had no talent. No talent
for building anything. So what did he do? He
burned down the Temple of Artemis. One of the
seven wonders of the ancient world. One of the
most beautiful buildings on earth. He destroyed
something beautiful and sacred solely to get
his name in the history books. And what happened
to him? The authorities at the time realized
what he was doing. They understood his motive.
They executed him. But they also pass a law damnatio
memoria forbidding anyone from ever speaking
his name. They wanted to erase him from history.
But here we are 2 ,000 years later saying his
name on a deep dive. Exactly. He won. The law
failed. His act of destruction granted him the
immortality he craved. And that is the haunting
question that celebrity culture leaves us with.
It is. If fame is the ultimate currency of our
culture, are we incentivizing people to build
things like Alfred Nobel? Or are we incentivizing
Harris Stratus to burn them down? And as the
audience, which spectacle are we more likely
to click on? The building or the fire? The data
suggests we click on the fire. Every time. That
is a heavy thought to end on. Celebrity culture
is a mirror. It reflects our consumer habits,
our political engagement, and our psychological
needs for connection and drama. It's a machine
we all participate in. Whether by clicking a
link, buying a sneaker, or voting for a personality.
We are the fuel. Doesn't run without us. Thank
you for listening to this deep dive. We hope
it changes the way you scroll through your feed
tomorrow morning. Indeed. Question why you're
watching and what you're rewarding with your
attention. See you next time.