Julie Klam - The Stars in Our Eyes

INTRODUCTION

O ne summer evening, I was sitting in my bed watching Rear Window, a favorite movie of mine. Ive seen it a million times, and each time I view it, the same thoughts occur to me: God, Grace Kelly is so beautiful. She really is so perfect. Who would wear that dress to their boyfriends apartment to make dinner? As I watched, I Googled pictures of Grace on my phone and looked at photos of her wedding to Prince Rainier. My then eleven-year-old daughter, Violet, came into the room with her laptop and plunked down next to me.

Mom, you have to watch this. It is so funny! It was her current favorite YouTuber, Tyler Oakley. At that moment, he was the biggest star in her world, this guy filming himself in his basement (or his jail cell or whatever locale hes in). And I said to my daughter in my best old Jewy tone, This is a star?

The concept of celebrity and fame has changed enormously over time. Once it was Julius Caesar and Cleopatra. Now its some woman on Instagram who does nude yoga and has 3.5 million followers, a thirteen-year-old Viner, and a Korean rapper who posts videos that are viewed millions of times. So today who is a celebrity? And who gets to be a celebrity? Part of the answer to these questions seems to be anyone with internet access. But theres more to it more than that.

This is what Im here to explore: what celebrity means, why we care so much, why I care so much, and why you probably do, too. I believe that if we more clearly understand celebrity, if we can get a handle on our relationship to celebrity, we can better understand ourselves. And while Im not a scientist or a researcher, I happen to be uniquely qualified to write this book: Ive been writing it my whole life.

Ive been enamored of celebrities for as long as Ive been conscious of TV and movies and records and sports. And my definition of celebrity always has stretched pretty wide. The guy who played piano at the restaurant where our family used to have dinner when I was a kid? I got his autograph. (His name was Mack Leonard, and he signed the sheet music for his original song Dont Take Me Anyplace but Poughkeepsie.) He was a celebrity to me. His autograph hung on my wall right next to a tiny, framed autograph from Today show film critic Gene Shalit, whose autograph I also got in one of my first forays into celebrity stalking. I had the autographs of my aunt Matties neighbor Christina, who was the model in the Enjoli TV commercial that went I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan, and never let you forget youre a man, and of a woman, Linda, who rode horses at the stable I took lessons at. She was in a Secret deodorant commercial. And in 1976, when our local Carvel ice-cream store grandly reopened with appearances from some of the lesser cast members of the Broadway musical Grease, I brought my autograph book and procured Doodys signature.

So I know about celebrity.

When I was young, I was convinced celebrities could save me. I was a middling (OK, below-average) student in school, not pretty or popular, occasionally teased. I was miserable. And it seemed to me that popularity and celebrity went together. The popular kids in my school were like our celebrities, because we all wanted to look at them and be around them, and even dress like them. So when Melissa Plechavicius started wearing a slim braid on the right side of her long, loose hair, we all followed her. When she switched to the left, so did we. Maybe if I knew a real celebrity, I remember thinking, people would emulate my do.

In 2006, I saw a music video while at the gym. (Well, music might be pushing itit was Paris Hilton singing.) In the video an adorable tweenage boy is being bullied in school and suffers the classic humiliation of having his fully loaded lunch tray flipped in the cafeteria by one of the school meanies. Demoralized, he comes home to his bedroom, which is plastered with pictures of his favorite singer, Paris Hilton. A moving van and Porsche pull up in front of the house next door, in a nice Risky Businessstyle suburban neighborhood. Out of the truck comes furniture thats being moved in next door. And who comes out of the car? What? Its PARIS HILTON? Gee, I wouldnt think of her as living in suburbia, but there you have it. The bullied boys dog comes running out of his house and approaches Pariss adorable little pup, and Paris smiles. Cute dog, she says to him, charmed by the idea that this young fan with boundary issues is her new next-door neighbor. Cut to the tweenage boy bringing the dazzling Ms. Hilton into the lunchroom with him. All the bullies are stunned, their jaws drop, and it isnt long before the main bullys own lunch tray is flipped exactly the way our heros was earlier in the video. The young boy is a victor. With her amazing superpowercelebrityParis has turned a loser into a winner and saved the day.

And scene.

I have to admit I watched the video every time it came on, despite having to listen to her sing. I was fascinated by its message even as I mocked it. Not because of Paris Hilton, whose celebrity status is questionable at best. We no longer seem to require that peoples fame be attached to anything other than renown. (Cough, Kardashians, cough.)

But the videos message struck a chord with me. I, too, had been a dorky kid who fantasized about bringing a movie star to school. In my case it was Blue Lagoon heartthrob Christopher Atkins. For those of you who dont remember, The Blue Lagoon