Our celebrtiy culture.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qpOlaLTXP4E


ame, (fame) makes a man take things over Fame, (fame) lets him loose, hard to swallow Fame, (fame)...

A passion for celebrity is not something one is meant to talk about. There are worlds, or rather circles, where, if you do, it is assumed that what you are really claiming for yourself is a type of intellectual slumming

Since celebrity depends for its existence on hearsay innuendo and gossip, if you embrace celebrity culture you must therefore read the papers and watch trivia television.Neither of which I do but I am still an inveterate and shameful name dropper.admitting to a passion for celebrity, it seems, is like flaunting a shameful secret, ergo you feel a sense of shame to admit you are interested in celebrities..

The papers revel in celebrity being caught with their trousers down and are quick off the mark to feed the voracious the public appetite for celebrity nemesis.
So the media's mode operand is to make profit out of their expressed horror (the claim being that they are speaking for the blooded public) so aghast they express horror, and by doing so draw their reader into horror,,and the reader's - prophyactivly are immune on the 34 bus as they devour horror and sensation. What we have here is traffic in the pleasure of horror. Sadism?

Could it be, then, that celebrity does indeed represent our guilty secret, that it’s a veiled way of putting into public circulation certain things which do not easily admit of public acknowledgment? Hence the pull and the paradox, the reason celebrity is so exciting and demeaning at the same time.

There ae those (pop stars mainly)  who construct an elaborate façade of public good as the veil for their own need for acclaim.
There is a paradox inherent in seeking an audience for one’s own worth

This is evident in Mark Twain’s ‘The Story of a Good Little Boy’:
Jacob had a noble ambition to be put in a Sunday school book. He wanted to be put in with pictures representing him gloriously declining to lie to his mother … and pictures representing him standing on the doorstep giving a penny to a poor beggar-woman with six children … and pictures of him magnanimously refusing to tell on the bad boy who always lay in wait for him around the corner as he came from school, and welted him over the head with a lath.
Take Hugh Grant, he of the good Oxford education and his disavowal of publicity:
But Celebrities who insist, often with apparent desperation, that they do not court publicity, who try to wrest their private lives from the public gaze on which they are totally dependent (they are legion – open any paper), are naive only for failing to realise that this is the balancing-act they are required to perform. They are never functioning so appropriately as celebrities, never displaying so perfectly the tension on which celebrity thrives, as in the moments when they make that non or anti-performative claim. A celebrity is someone all too close who also stages something in the nature of a magical disappearing act.#
Hugh Grant dreams the impossible dream for his goal is to purge achievement of all negative implications – to strive purely, to win without defeating, to be committed to the life of achieving – while constantly trying to avoid the compromised surrender to a sordid public gaze.’

Princess Diana embodied a wondrous mixture of forms of celebrity – sacred and secular. ‘Not only did she capture the spirit of the age,’ Andrew Morton writes on the last page of the most recent edition )post Diana's death) of his famous book, ‘but more than that the manner of her life and death formed part of a religious cycle of sin and redemption, a genuinely good and Christian woman who was martyred for our sins, epitomising our strange appetite for celebrity.’

When Diane read the first ediiton of Motions's book she exclaimed
"he’s pretty much written my obituary." Motion viewed the publication of his book after Diana's death as ‘like watching a slowly spreading pool of blood seeping from under a locked door’.  It is opera and qunintessetilly Greek.

As to the so-called transfiguration of the British psyche at the time of Diana’s death left a lot of undesirable components of the British political landscape intact. Those mourning Diana on the Mall did not necessarily want to pay higher taxes to improve the lot of those she sponsored, nor was it hard to hear the undertones of racism in the conspicuous, at moments deafening silence about Dodi Fayed. Wasn't he that Arab chap?