Josh Sundquist - Semi-Famous: A True Story of Near Celebrity

It recently came to my attention that I am semi-famous. I learned this from an Instagram story. Id never met the girl who posted it, but it showed up in my alerts because she tagged me. Heres what she wrote:

Okay, so I want to point out several things about this post.

First of all, no kid has ever said they want to be a semi famous internet comedian when they grow up. Im not saying its a bad gig exactly, just that it wasnt anyones childhood dream. I myself wanted to be a computer programmer. Which is a strange aspiration for a six-year-old. Especially because this was before pop cultures appropriation of nerd culturebefore fantasy novels and superhero fandom flipped from geeky to trendy. What Im saying is, I was a nerd back when nerds were still just, you know, nerds. I like to think of myself as a hipster nerd.

Anyway, obviously it hadnt yet become clear that nerds could grow up to become tech billionaires. So when I taught myself a programming language called BASIC on this old-school computer that my grandfather had given me, most parents wouldve probably thought, Oh no, our eldest offspring is a loser. But not my parents. They went out and bought me a book about another, far more complex programming language called C++. Oh, you want to be a computer nerd? Fine. But you are not nearly there! You must nerd out, like, way harder!

The computer was wedged between my dresser and my gerbil cage. When you turned it on, you got that interface you see in hacker movies: blank screen, blinking neon-green cursor. I programmed a little game where you could move the X character around the screen to dodge asterisk* bombs. Over time, though, I got interested in writing prose (specifically, sci-fi novelsthe narrative cousin of computer programming) instead of writing code, and I dropped the programming hobby. Sometimes I wish Id stuck with it. Maybe I could have been a software engineer at Instagram by now, wearing Insta-logo branded hoodies and pounding free green juices from the stocked fridge down the hall. Surely it would be better to be working at Instagram today than to be reading ambiguously demeaning stories about my work on Instagram, right?

Seeing that story really made me pause. Sure, its cool to be tagged in a post. But, like, what am I doing with my life? Is this who I want to be when I grow up? A micro-influencer who you tag in your story but probably dont follow? A person who is maybe just barely famous enough to be occasionally recognized from a distance and posted about, but not quite famous enough that youd, like, want to get a selfie? Or say hi? Or even make awkward passing eye contact?

What I realized is, Im not so much famous as I am familiar. Im like one of your teachers from middle school.

Oh look, Mom, theres Mr. Turner.

Whos that?

My semi-dorky seventh-grade Gym teacher.

Im someone you mention in passing to your momwho definitely doesnt know who I am. Sort of a comedian but not quite, so when you describe me to her, you qualify

In fact, she used not one but two of these prefixes-that-make-the-otherwise-cool-thing-kind-of-sad.

Not famous. Semi-famous.

Not comedian. Internet comedian.

Look, Im not trying to complain about her post. I think thats a spot-on characterization of my middle-class rung on the internet-influencer ladder. If anything, I think its a wonderfully strange thing to be recognized at all. Im delighted she tagged me. Really. If she hadnt, I would never have known someone recognized me in the first place. Once you become a semi-famous internet figure, your fragile ego cant help but wonder if anyone ever recognizes you. You hope so, if youre being honest.

Being recognized means you matter. You are somebody.

It makes you feel good about yourself. For a minute. Then human nature kicks in. You want more. You need more to feel better. But more is never enough, no matter how many people recognize you or how many zeros or Ks or Ms are on the end of the numbers on your profile.

A few months ago, YouTube sent me an email saying I ) A few hours of Xanax-mitigated panic later, I got a second email from YouTube full of vague corporate-speak about how they were mistaken, they apologized for any inconvenience, and I would keep my verification badge after all. Which felt like the doctor popping back into the exam room and saying,