A farewell to fame: who really needs it?
Martha Gill tells the sad tale of Baldwin and LaBeouf
IN the past few weeks, two celebrities have tried to leave public life. Alec Baldwin, in a 5 000-word letter in New York Magazine, and Shia LaBeouf, through a paper bag placed on his head with “I’m not famous anymore” written on it.
Both actions made headlines, and both launched thousands of vitriolic tweets (they were, apparently, being too ostentatious about it). Neither (spoiler alert) will be allowed to stop being famous.
It is an interesting time in celebrity culture. Never has fame been so sought after, never so roundly despised. Never have we demanded so forcefully that celebrities stay celebrities, however much they might try to wriggle out of it.
A survey a few years ago listed the top career aspirations for children between five and 11. They were pop star, football star and actor.
Twenty-five years earlier, teacher, banker and doctor topped the list. And it is not just the kids — we still apply in our thousands to reality-TV shows, build up our social media profiles, try to launch careers on YouTube. Stories about this tendency report it sadly, hundreds shaking their heads in the comment section.
Everyone wants to be famous, everyone disapproves of the trend. We hate those trying to get famous, we hate those who are, we hate those trying to become unfamous again. The result is toxic.
LaBeouf and Baldwin have their faults — one is a rubbish plagiarist, the other so inept with language he offends another demographic every time he opens his mouth. But I think the level of vitriol directed against them goes beyond that.
Look at the treatment dished out to the fairly inoffensive Anne Hathaway, or Gwyneth Paltrow, and you cannot help but feel part of a culture of righteous bullying. Righteous, because they are celebrities — and celebrities deserve everything they get.
They get lots. Become too famous and you cannot go outside. Your public persona (which your job requires you to care about) is largely beyond your control. You have platforms in interviews, but self-expression is difficult — one word out of place and you have damaged your brand forever.
Leaving public life is also now impossible.
When Monica Lewinsky achieved inadvertent fame in 1998, she thought she would have to wait a few years before people would forget about her and she could move on with her life.
At 40, she still has not got a normal job, still cannot walk through the streets without being recognised.
In his article, Baldwin wrote about how fame had changed in New York.
“It used to be you’d go into a restaurant and the owner would say: ‘Do you mind if I take a picture of you and put it on my wall?’ Sweet and simple. Now,
You’re out there in a world where if you do make a mistake, it echoes in a digital canyon forever
everyone has a camera in their pocket. Add to that predatory photographers and predatory videographers who want to taunt you and catch you doing embarrassing things. You’re out there in a world where if you do make a mistake, it echoes in a digital canyon forever.” Oh boo hoo, Twitter responded — he signed up for this, so he is fair game. Perhaps they are right, but you have to worry about a culture in which to sign up for success is to become an instant walking target.
There are signs, though, that the balance is tipping. As fame becomes more of a pain in the neck, people are managing to reject it right at the start.
Two weeks ago, Dong Nguyen, creator of the hugely successful mobile game Flappy Bird, decided to remove it from app stores.
The game was making him $50 000 (about R539 000) a day, but it was also ruining his “simple life”.
“My life has not been as comfortable as I was before,” he explained. “I couldn’t sleep.”
It is too late for Baldwin and LaBeouf, but perhaps not for Nguyen, and perhaps not for the rest of us.
We might yet get our 15 minutes of privacy.