Beverly Braga bbraga@media.ucla.edu
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Being rich and famous must suck.
The “and” in the previous sentence makes all the
difference between utter bliss and complete suckdom.
Being rich and not famous is a whole basket of bananas better
than being famous and not rich. The former allows you to spend your
banana baskets of money in broad daylight among the other
non-famous people and perhaps get looks of scornful envy. The
latter means you probably had banana baskets of money but wasted it
all, and the only looks you get in broad daylight are the ones that
read, “Hey, isn’t that…” and “Damn, what
happened to…” And that bites. But being both? Oy.
The whole concept of fame must be the worst thing to happen to
anyone. Everyone knows your face. Your mug is plastered on buses,
bus stops and bus drivers. You know you’re not looking into
your bathroom mirror but it still feels that way.
Plus, famous people like you never actually look as
hot/cute/sexy/bananalicious as the way you’re presented in
print or onscreen. You’re either shorter or uglier or dumber.
There’s always something different, something wrong.
I’m sure there are rare occasions in which celebrities such
as yourself might look better in person than in whatever medium
they’re associated with, but it’s rare nonetheless.
And may the Lord have mercy on the souls of those who bump into
celebrities that fit into the “not hot” column and they
end up being even more unattractive.
But famous people can’t hide from themselves or from the
world. You all have to come out sometime. You have to go to work
like everybody else. You have to buy food, gas and the National
Enquirer like everybody else. So how do you inconspicuously shimmy
your way into our version of normalcy? You get the one thing
necessary in your line of work ““ a hat.
Yes, a hat, that simple cotton hood with a brim is what adorns
the famous heads most of the time during regular-people hours.
These are the hours when you decide to brave the masses and
breathe, not for publicity’s sake, but simply because your
dogs ran out of conversation. And it doesn’t matter what time
of day it is.
It can be 3:49 a.m. on a Tuesday and you’re just making a
quick run to Ralphs, craving some Ben & Jerry’s (insert
flavor) ice cream. While the mutts can stay home, slobbering all
over the bed, the hat must tag along. You never know what autograph
seeker or “I’m your biggest fan” could be lurking
about in the same ice cream aisle hoping to satisfy the same
craving.
But being recognized is only one of the many unwelcome things
about fame. Having your life story being published for all the
curious world to see isn’t very much fun either. Unless the
information is something you allowed your publicist to confirm,
everyone else is left to make up their own opinions about your life
and who you are. That’s scary.
All your living days ““ from conception to the very moment
during which you’re reading this paper ““ can be known
by anyone who cares about your celebrity. You can’t even go
to a bar and have just one drink with some friends without some
snoop writing about the occasion. The story comes out and then all
of a sudden everyone and their mom believes you’re an
out-of-control alcoholic that needs to be sent off to rehab. But
all you had was one drink. Sheesh.
Still, if you don’t mind the invasion of privacy and
having rumors spread about you, then being a celebrity can’t
be all that bad.
For one thing, you’re rich. And you don’t have to be
an actor in the $20 million club. If your name is notable enough,
you can publish a book of your poetry and it’ll become a
bestseller. The poetry doesn’t even have to be that good. And
with all the money you make off that added to what you make at your
this-is-why-I’m-famous job, who knows how many shopping
sprees you can go on, buying everything you’ve always wanted.
And if you’re childhood wasn’t dysfunctional and
depressing, then you can even surprise Mom and Dad with an early
retirement. Aww. Isn’t that simply delightful?
Another perk is that you get invited to special famous
people-only shindigs and award shows. Yeah, so award shows are long
and boring but it’s cool if you win something. Even if
you’re only a presenter, those gift baskets are just as
sweet. There’s all the free food and bubbly too. The neatest
thing would be to meet other famous folks of which you are in
awe.
Everyone’s a fan of someone.
But the baskets of banana fun do get squashed from time to time.
Although fame and fortune can get you really nifty stuff, you do
sacrifice really important stuff. I mean, you can’t just be
yourself ever again. Your luxury has to be enjoyed behind
20-foot-high wrought iron gates. Everything you do outside of them
““ and sometimes the stuff you do inside ““ becomes an
event. And when it all runs out, nobody wants to be another
“Where Are They Now?” sob story.
If anything, keep the money but ditch the fame. Who wants to
have constant hat hair anyway?