The Six Degrees To One Star
I am horribly guilty of being horribly hypocritical about emerging social networking utilities online. Although I condone the likes of Facebook and MySpace as responsible for mass-managing our growing friends list with an indulgence for escaping conflict when it arises, I cannot distract from the fact these online avenues have the capability for constructing communities that would otherwise be obscured by the boundaries of land, air and sea. Within a few clicks, revisit the profile of primary and high school friends, university buddies, thought long-lost family and even movie stars; it makes one feel silly for ever having been excited of the prospect of microphone speech over 28.8kbps modem in the days when we tirelessly thought “anything is possible”. I blame Doctor Who and Get Smart for their devilish influence upon the way we view technology — you must master it, or you shall become its servant.
There’s no reason why we shouldn’t be spending the ridiculous amount of time we currently engage in online communication as it is undoubtedly helpful in bringing us together. The real concern arises when the technoface of the modern day becomes the standard for portrayal and manipulation of self-image, such that we look to imagined paragons online for the latest digest on what is most appealing and socially acceptable. But more importantly, networking sites bring the inherent desire to appear popular and claim some of the overwhelming limelight for oneself. As with all things, moderation is the key but when does exhibiting the gifts and strengths of oneself become excessive to the point of waging a bloodfest for king of the hill?
Everybody has been starstruck at some stage in their lives, or has at least a claim of six degrees in the family lineage that joins the hallowed artists of the film and music industries. In this way, we don’t feel so bad about missing out on the fortunes of being noticed and acknowledged by the broader community. After all, all that merchandise and all those gossip magazines and websites help to bridge the gap that has been left in the wake of dreaming for a pedestal to exhibit oneself.
It would be a strange world if everybody acknowledged that in some way, they were famous. In the microcosmic sense, we are. We are famous for owning the same brand of bread as that of the loaf in the President’s kitchen, we are famous for standing on the same rock as a dinosaur stood some thousand years ago, for sharing the same brand of drinking water as a superstar, we are famous again for sitting on designer lounges and drinking signature coffee and smoking cigarettes of a person we are not even sure exists and so on. Is it really necessary to attach so much cathexis to the branding of ourselves and depend upon labels to signify our values and scruples? By the same token, my meticulous shaving style doesn’t liken me to Tiger Woods on the back of the Men’s Health magazine, does it?
Whether we like it or not, everybody is famous because they identify, at least on the most primal level, within the sake of their individual footprint. I understand that in the rehashing of this idea, I am (but don’t mean to be) conjuring images of dead clichees of cartoon characters teaching children to love themselves before loving another. Rather than looking into cyberspace for the cornerstore selling egocentric goods, the traits of individuality are found diffuse in what occupies our mind and actions in our spare time and as a stamp in our preference for our vocation.
There can be several psychologist-to-be guitarists from Sydney who listen to Coldplay late at night, but there is no certainty that each person extracts the same qualities or shows the same kind of interest.
Expressed better still, true fame rests in having attained the self-realisation that you are able to excel in what you excel, you have outlined and live with one’s own faults and in the rhythmic exercises of the monotonous everyday experience, carry the crest of your consistent and holistic self.
To this end, although we are all perfectly capable of tracking down that elusive Hollywood star online, it often makes more sense to us (as it should) that a paragon of realised self-image is a chiselled porcelain statue whilst the facade of popular appeal is a glasshouse: transparent, brittle, fragile, transient. There is no shame in the craft of acting, singing, counting or writing to whatever degree, for each ultimately open doors furthermore to important revelatory experiences that shape us - we cannot and should not deprive ourselves of the art of weaving our essential being from the precious fragments awarded to us in packages over time.
Comments are closed.
