English Version | Idol, idol on the wall

My work gives me a rare opportunity among the vast majority of people. Unlike many, the likelihood of meeting my idols is high. From interviews for the cover of Vogue Portugal to shows at the most varied fashion weeks, in one way or another, I've had the chance to, if not talk to, at least observe people I've idolized all my life. I've met enough of them to learn that I shouldn't have met them. The distance between the fantasy of fame and human reality is frightening.

Let's focus first on the least (or most) important: appearances. Meeting a celebrity in person can be quite revealing. We refuse to take up the space that pink magazines leave behind, but it's important to remember - people are people. The photos we see on Instagram or the movies we watch on Netflix are always edited. These people are put under the most favorable spotlights, with expert make-up and often with filters on top. But it's usually not worth comparing ourselves to celebrities when it comes to appearance. Between the Ozempic phenomenon that has so problematically brought heroin chic back to the surface and the increasingly popular (and affordable) surgical interventions, going down the Hollywood route is a bad idea. Yes, it would be fantastic to see ourselves represented in the press. How empowering it could be to see someone with the same body as me posing on a red carpet. How validated I would feel if I saw someone who looked like me starring in any campaign. But the point is the sacred adage: you're not ugly, you're broke. It would be idiotic to think that someone would choose to present themselves in a natural way if they are exposed to the public and have access to such benefits. But this is just the tip of the iceberg, the first instance in which we understand that our relationship with our idols is contradictory. The pedestal on which we place them is as Olympic as it is domestic. We expect them to be like us, just another normal person in the crowd, but we're attentive to each of their imperfections, ready to criticize any sign of humanity.

Appearance is just a parable for the real crux of the celebrity issue. The problem is that we are desperate to establish any kind of empathetic relationship with someone we idolize. We want to blame our idols for our problems, to make them our friends. We want to put out on their backs so that we can feel our burden lightened. This instinct, although natural and often unconscious, is dangerous. On the rare occasion that we meet one of these heroes, the reality of the duality between the divine and the human becomes too great to ignore. What do you do when the person you've followed for as long as you can remember, about whom you could recite countless facts, doesn't even know your first name? Curious to find out how meeting an idol has disappointed others (I don't even know what it's like to be disappointed anymore, my standards are off the charts too), I went to the most reliable source possible: Instagram stories. For my followers to see, I asked a simple question - “what less happy stories do you have of meeting one of your idols?” The answers are, as usual, worthy of attention. From people who confessed their love for a celebrity only for them to ignore them to their face, to those who, upon seeing their idol, realized how many surgeries they had, the feedback was varied. However, one common element was certainly total disinterest followed by feelings of betrayal. “I went to meet my idol and he barely looked me in the face,” writes an Indian photography student living in London. After meeting his favorite photographer on the second day after he emigrated to the British capital (a fact he promised me was a total coincidence and not the result of stalking), he confesses to feeling disappointed. “All my life I dreamed of meeting him and he barely looked me in the eye.” Others described a disappointment they had never considered, one involving a new type of celebrity: influencers. “I followed this girl for a long time on Instagram, her appeal is that she's extremely nice and friendly. One day, she happened to be at the same party as me and was talking to some friends we happened to have in common. I was shocked - she didn't even ask me my name even though I was trying to integrate her into the conversation. She had a super rude vibe like she was superior to the rest of us.” This disappointment deeply affected those who felt it: “I've refused to idolize influencers ever since, you never know what they're going to be like in real life.” But the most serious case came from a New York nurse who, in the heart of the city that never sleeps, witnessed some of the most repulsive behavior possible. “I once saw one of the world's most famous models walk into the emergency room, get in front of a whole line of people in front of her and scream that she needed to be seen right then and there - like it was a movie, screaming 'Do you know who I am? I need to get out of this room as soon as possible. It was disgusting.” In another of these stories, the same nurse saw a rapper put hundred-dollar bills on the hospital counter so that he could be attended to as a priority, even though there was nothing urgent.”

One of my interviewees theorizes, “Perhaps this kind of attitude is a kind of protection, something that these celebrities have built up over time as a way of safeguarding themselves from the public.” This opinion has some truth to it. When projected into the public eye, many feel compelled to create a kind of alternative persona, a version of themselves that acts as a barrier between the emotional violence of peer relationships and their personal lives. If this is the case - we're still not convinced - it's understandable how an assertive and rude character could be the perfect barrier. If you see her as a mere embodiment of the desire for privacy, it's smart that she manifests herself in the most solid way possible.

Of course, reality is far more complex than our simple theory. The fact is, even if we find it hard to believe, our idols are just like the rest of us: people. The human race in general is characterized by a constant flux between moments when we are the best version of ourselves and the worst. Maybe if you caught me running out of the supermarket on a rainy Tuesday, with my shopping in hand and my paper bags about to succumb to the pressure of the rush, I wouldn't be the most loving person in the world. Perhaps I also didn't like being made a god so that I could be punished when I didn't know who was praying to me.

A phrase that has always helped me sleep at night - and avoid heartbreak whenever possible - is applicable here: “Expectations are premeditated resentments”. The fact is that we come to these idols with our hearts in our mouths, excited to confess our love. But this love, although it may be difficult to understand, is not mutual. This person who means so much to us is just someone who is seeing us for the first time. We could perhaps argue that their success is due to the community we are part of: their fans. But the fact is that worship is a decision we make personally. These people don't owe us that much. They are people like everyone else. However, the length of this argument is not meant to excuse you but to level the playing field. Just like all the other people we meet day after day, our idols owe us nothing but the respect and good manners we need to live in society.

In 1882, the philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche decreed the death of god; in 2024, I make an equally shocking declaration: the death of celebrity. In the ephemeral age of TikTok and cancel culture, the meaning of fame is increasingly diluted. And, in fact, they don't make it like they used to. If celebrities used to be divine beings, untouchable from the rest of us ordinary mortals, today they are increasingly trying to be relatable. The problem is that they have very little relatability. These are people who, as a rule, are extremely wealthy in an industry that is all about appearances. It's irresponsible of us to let ourselves be seduced by these messages: just like the personality they sell us in albums, Youtube videos or interviews, these people in real life have almost nothing in common with those who support them. We compare ourselves to these people every day and, inevitably, these affinities begin to affect our perception of ourselves. A word of advice from a friend: think of celebrities as characters. This is an excellent way to avoid heartbreak. We can appreciate these people in a fictional way, but it's unwise to let ourselves get carried away by parasocial friendships.

Translated from the original in Vogue Portugal's The Icons Issue, published November 2024. Full story and credits in the print issue.