Oliver Green is a modern life burnout/angeraholic living in Bali, Indonesia and writing about life instead of making things worse by having one.
F A M E
Do you ever get that spooky feeling that someone isn’t watching you?
When I found out who the most Googled person in the world right now is, I made a moaning noise that sounded like when you step on a corpse’s gut and the dead air in their rotten body pushes past their decomposing vocal chords. A kind of HHHHHhaaaaaauuuughhhhssssshhh noise.
Miley Cyrus has gone from this perfectly reasonable child star into a piece of wank fruit who is now considered edgy and models for Marc Jacobs. She did it the way one does that. Sees Terry Richardson (and presumably his penis), simulates a blow job on a hammer then previews a new brand of ‘feminism’ by rubbing her scent glands on Robin Thicke’s BeetleJuice costume making him have to spring for dry cleaning the next day and a divorce lawyer in the coming weeks. A couple of collaborations and some drug rumours and voila – credible artist. The most famous person in the world.
Fame is now measurable in followers, likes, views, comments and shares. And like all things shitty in the world the people deciding on the famous are what’s called ‘Tweens’. Everything Tweens like are terrible because their attention span is – hey look a puppy in sunglasses! These are people who have just stopped sticking bits of LEGO into their vaginas, and now they are playing a big role in controlling our cultural landscape.
As a society, we select the popular culture and we get the famous people we deserve. These famous people are getting worse and worse. Chris Brown makes Bobby Brown look like Doc Brown.
Fame is a gift we as the many bestow upon the few. We choose them off the vast carousel of talent, looks and oddness (mostly looks) and lift them up in our collective consciousness. It’s our innate desire for significance. Our need to be recognized by the tribe. We do it for them because we want it done to us.
Fame is a human pyramid scheme that we all buy into. We make someone famous with our attention and adoration. We make them rich and storied because we think that it’s going to be our turn next. And why wouldn’t we think that? Every where we look we see evidence of fame – even looking back at us in the mirror.
We dress like the famous. Cut our hair like them and even try to smell like them.
Surely one of the strangest phenomena’s is the celebrity perfume. J Lo has made millions from ‘JLo GLOW’ flying off Walmart shelves to be sprayed into the waxy crevasses of the scrotial skinned wives and mothers of Middle America. Presumably it smells like mocking irony with undertones of outright laughter and sheer amazement.
Zac Efron – Skidz. A zesty fragrance with notes of smells of burning tin-foil and sushi.
Gywneth Paltrow – Alimony. For the lady that wants to smell like organic smugness and the tears of relief from an English songwriter.
R Kelly – Nonconsensual. A weighty cologne that makes a man smell like brandy, urine and rape kit.
These are the benefits of fame – money for stink. But there are downsides… Stars complain about the loss of privacy in their lives. Now there are those with fame that see it like a prison sentence.
“What are you in for?”
“Jeans look good on me. You?”
“I can pretend to be a pirate real good.”
Actor / Model breaks down and cries and looks around to make sure someone is looking at him. Actor / Model wants his life back.
Oh. Life. Back. Do you mean ‘real life’ life. Like when you run out of toilet paper and forget to buy more for three weeks and every time you take a shit you have to shower, Mr Depp? You mean you want to re-embrace concepts like ‘Wednesday’, Mr Dicaprio? You want to figure out where the weird fishy smell in your car is coming from because it’s making your clothes stink and you have job interview at that printing place, Ms Johannson. Like fuck you do. You want your cake and you want to eat it… and throw it up later. But the thing is – you took the MONEY and now even though you are superior to us in every way – better looking, more interesting, better dressed, travelled, fed and fucked – we gave you your life and we’ll tell you when to stop dancing… Or we won’t. We will love you when we want to and we will hate you too.
Some we give fame – just so we can hate them – @KimKardashian I hope you get cancer of the BABY! @KimKardashian Keeping Up with the Kardashians shouldn’t be difficult at your size. Or the intellectual, @KimKardashian DIE BITCH DIE. LOL’s. But keep smiling Kim, hate isn’t the opposite of love – indifference is the opposite of Love and indifference is the death of Fame.
As much as we hate some of them– I’m sure the feeling’s mutual. How can you like or respect us when we care so much about everything you do – “Miranda Kerr does fart with upward inflection – is her colon asking questions about recent break up?” How can you respect us when we subjugate ourselves by letting you hump us in toilets, buses and our buttholes without knowing our names? I’m surprised more fans aren’t casually murdered by bored famous people. Beiber spits on a Belieber outside his hotel from his balcony – why not drop a statue on one? Squish some. Put a couple in a jar and throw some fire works in with them. Tear the wings off some. Burn some to death with a magnifying glass. Fan-snuff filmed on Swarovski Crystal encrusted iPhones with the Instagram filter that makes the pink of the teenagers guts and brains POP.
Warhol said in the future we’ll all get 15 minutes of Fame.
15 minutes – your time starts now.
0-3 minutes: Be fat and dance well/Do karaoke on the telly or do a passable impersonation of a possum in some headlights while being fucked from behind by a sports star.
3-5 minutes: Reveal backstory. Hugged not enough by father / hugged waaayyyy too much by father.
5-8 minutes: Leave sports star. Hook up with new sports star or actor / model. Sell wedding to highest bidder. Invite people you don’t know. Display borrowed dress and leased life.
8-12 minutes: Reality show circuit. Dance on some ice, lose weight competitively, cook a stew while being sworn at, sleep in a dormitory with others like you. Get a new haircut.
NB: I quite like celebrity dancing on ice but I can’t help thinking it would be better if they removed the music and set it in a North Korean Prison Camp.
12-13 minutes: Suffer from ‘exhaustion’. It is exhausting staying up for days at a time on coke / meth while your mouth gets treated like a dartboard for D-list dicks.
13-15 minutes: Tearful apology / revelation / walk towards Jesus while bouncing on the couch of a talk show – high as hell on ‘exhaustion’.
We know the path of 99% of the famous. BUT we still all want it! We want our turn on the top of the people pile away from the armpits and breath. We all want fame. However, it needs to be the right type of fame.
A good wholesome school massacre will get you famous but thankfully murdering school children doesn’t get you rich, adored or a nice car. Fame is contextual – there really is no point being famous for the wrong thing. There are Famous scrabble players for example but what’s the point of that? The most famous scrabble player will never be able to trade his fame for a blow-job from a coked up groupie while he runs a red light shooting a handgun out the sun roof of his suede Ferrari. Ever. He might as well be sesquioxidizing a portmanteaux for a bunch of zax sharpening muzjiks as far as we’re concerned. We don’t value that fame as much as an actor, model or a rockstar. That’s the bullseye right there. That triplet of uselessness is where we all want to be and anyone who says otherwise is a fucking liar – and can be my agent or PR bitch.