Fleeting fame in a changing world

I’ve watched a YouTube clip of a TV talk show a while back where some guy kept calling everyone in the audience irrelevant because they weren’t famous. He only acknowledged and accepted the host as an equal because the host was (is) famous, and therefore relevant. Funnily enough, barely anyone knows the ”you’re irrelevant” guy’s name today – thrusting him into obscurity he clearly so feared and despised.

Call it karma, if you believe in that sort of thing.

In 2025, you can be famous and not even know it. Yes, it’s possible. How? You can write something online, be it an article or a blog post, and it’s going to spread in certain circles, and you won’t even have a clue, unless someone reaches out to you, worse yet, stalks you.

Does that still make you famous, then? Some are going to say yes, some are going to say no. We can’t tell with mathematical precision when the threshold of fame or infamy has been crossed.

You can be famous but use a nickname, a pen name, even a nom de guerre, and barely anyone is going to know who you are. All sorts of things are possible. Fame isn’t linear.

Or, indeed, you can be a legend in your own mind but that’s not fame, that’s delusion. A pleasant delusion, but a delusion nonetheless, though there’s a philosophical school of thought called solipsism where one asserts only one’s existence can be ascertained. In essence, everyone else and everything else is but a mirage.

Some cultures revere fame, heroes and legends. Some cultures are more about conformism and frown upon heroism or trying to stand out too much (the nail that sticks out, gets hammered in – a Japanese proverb).

We complain about celebrities, yet, we can’t live without them. It’s as if we’re trying to justify our obsessions by denying they exist. Love it or hate it, the celebrity culture is here to stay. It impacts your life even when you don’t own a smartphone. You can’t completely ignore popular culture, no matter how asinine – it’s everywhere. Don’t fight it – be Machiavellian. In other words, if you can’t beat them join them. Use popular culture to your advantage.

People become famous in all sorts of ways, some never intended to be famous, yet they had greatness (or ignominy) thrust upon them. Take John Kennedy Toole, the author of ”A Confederacy of Dunces.” The book was published eleven years after his tragic death thanks to his resourceful mother, who used her contact network, including a famous author, to help get her son’s book out there. His mother was a hero, no doubt about it. Not many people go to such lengths to help someone else, even their child, become remembered.

Fame-by-association. Take the case of Paul Schreber, a German judge. This one’s as weird as it gets. He became convinced God was turning him into a woman to give birth to new humans. Sigmund Freud’s study of Daniel Paul Schreber is likely the only reason why we know about Paul Schreber today, though I have my doubts if the judge wanted to be remembered for his psychosis.

Fame by destruction, by outrage, by controversy almost always works, going back to ancient times. Case in point. The Temple of Artemis at Ephesus was burned down in 356 BC , allegedly by a man named Herostratus who sought fame through destruction. Well, it worked out for him. Martyrdom, murder, and assassinations are, sadly, three more methods that sear into the collective memory.

Does our fame, notoriety or infamy matter in the afterlife? In heaven, hell, whatever?

Are we going to be walking around heaven, saying, ”Hey, you’re that guy?” Does God really treat us equally or are some of us going to have way better access to the Creator based not only on our deeds but our intellect? What about psychopaths? Are they going to get a conscience in an act of road-to-Damascus divine intervention? Maybe psychopaths are right and conscience is a sign of a lower evolutionary level?

Now, imagine an afterlife party.

”How did you die? In your sleep? Meh. What kind of a boring death is that?”

”Oh wow, you died in a nuclear blast? That gives you a lot of afterlife cred points, kind of like martyrdom. Congratulations, just watch out for the paparazzi.”

It gets better. What if we meet our famous alternate selves in the afterlife, too? Are we going to ask them for autographs?

There’s nothing wrong with celebrities, as long as they have a skill or a story worth celebrating – if you were called a celebrity even fifty years ago, that actually meant something. It was a badge of honor. Now? I think you know.

On a personal note, Casey Lartigue (Honorary Seoul citizen with long-time links to Harvard, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg of his achievements) told me a while back that I’m in his Hall of Fame for writing ”the best ever” article about him. Hey, I’ve never asked to be on anyone’s list, but I truly appreciate it. After five years of online e-mail exchanges about North Korean defectors and other topics, including Casey getting inspired by trolls who call him a CIA agent, we met face-to-face, albeit briefly, for the first time in Warsaw. How strange it was, knowing someone, yet not knowing someone. I’m sure you know what I mean.

Life can be reduced to vanitas vanitatum et omnia vanitas. We can argue it’s all pointless because it’s all ephemeral. Or we can say non omnis moriar.

Vanitas vanitatum or leaving some sort of legacy behind? Something truly yours?

An article, maybe a book? Don’t be just another nameless face in the crowd.