Fame has always been a confusing concept to me: ordinary people become known across the world by millions, making them extraordinary. It's not that they're so much better looking than the rest of us, or that they're so much more talented. Somewhere along the line, however they received the gift of fame, causing others to become obsessed with them for no good reason.
I am constantly reminded of this living in London, where the tabloids are just ridiculous. I was thumbing through one cheesy magazine where British stars I've never heard of are caught in \embarrassing"" acts. Such as one male celebrity--eating a pastry! The page showed three consecutive shots of him ""stuffing his face."" How embarrassing. Is this the best they could come up with?
Oh, there was also another embarrassing shot of a woman--once again no one I had heard of--whose chin happened to be caught in an unflattering position. And oh my GAWD what WAS she thinking? How could she ever make a face like that when there was a photographer with a telescopic lens lurking about?
But the fact is, people will buy crap like this, and people like me will get sucked into reading it when it's on the living room table. I just can't comprehend why we care about what sunscreen Nicole Kidman wears, how J. Lo holds Ben's hand and what that means about their relationship or that Justin Timberlake was shopping at the Urban Outfitters right down the street from me. Now, if you'll excuse me for a few seconds while I go scream like a 12-year-old girl.
It's like people are only interesting if they have this aura of fame attached to them. I watch Jay Leno and the like--they'll interview someone with a movie coming out, and the hip star talks about how they took out the trash earlier that day. HEY! I DO THAT TOO! Can I be famous now? Then people everywhere can read about what I wash my hair with, and print embarrassing facts about my life before I became famous.
There's only a few problems with that though: I'm neither a good nor bad actor, I don't sing crappy music, and I'm not gorgeous (anorexic) enough to be a model.
So back to celebrity adoration--David Beckham, husband of Posh Spice, hurts his nose playing football (er, soccer?), and it's headline news. It even becomes fashionable to hurt one's nose. WHY? I think a matter we should be concentrating on instead of this is whether or not the Spice Girls will ever reunite, because that is what it is truly important.
But of course, it's still exciting to think of all the celebrity spotting potential I have in a city like this. It's fun to know that one day I could see someone famous walking along the street, and I could tell all my friends and be cool for being in the right place at the right time. Until then, I'll settle for this story: I know a girl who saw what might have been Hugh Grant! As for the celebrity gossip, I don't bloody care.
Erica Edwardson is a junior majoring in sociology who may be reached at eaedwardson@students.wisc.edu. Her column runs every Friday in The Daily Cardinal.
