The Price of Fame

I really don’t get the whole obsession with celebrity. If I saw my favourite movie star or singer walking down the street, yeah my heart might skip a beat, my tummy turn into knots and my legs go all wobbly – well, Jake Gyllenhaall would probably induce those reactions anyway – but I would not queue up for hours in the rain and cold to catch a glimpse of them. I would not ask for their autograph – I have never understand what’s so exciting about someone’s signature scrawled on a piece of paper. I would not scream like a toddler or break down into uncontrollable tears. I would probably widen my eyes in shock, inhale deeply but then carry on as if I didn’t care who they were or hadn’t notice them at all. Perhaps I have some sort of complex or maybe I’m just proud but I hate the idea of people thinking they’re better than me just because they’re famous. I hate the thought of myself going all gooey and being looked at as ‘just another annoying fan’.


On the flip side, I don’t understand why anyone would want to be famous. Who would want to be followed everywhere by maniacal paparazzi photographers trying to earn the big bucks by snapping you in some compromising position? Who would want to be hounded everywhere they went by the media, fans, and wannabes? Who would to have to wear a disguise to go on a normal day out, or to have to make sure their hair and make-up was perfect to pop down to the shops for a pint of milk? Who would want to wonder if the person they’re dating is really into them or just into the celebrity status? Who would want to worry about stalkers? I just don’t get it. Yes, I would love the money and the invitations to swanky parties but I would not want to be recognised everywhere I went. Which is why when I received an email from a PR agency promoting a new ‘experience’ called ‘Dayfame’, I shook my head in disbelief, although sadly not surprise.

For the princely fee of upwards of £160 you can be followed around all evening by a group of 50 paps who will shout at you, get in your way and shove cameras in your face. What part of that is fun exactly? There’s a certain irony in the fact that true celebrities pay people to ward off the paparazzi whilst Tina down the road forks out two weeks worth of grocery money to draw them to her. Give her a couple of weeks of being hounded by the paps and she’ll soon wish they’d leave her alone. However, what’s possibly even sadder are the extras, including ‘stunning company’. For an extra wad of cash you can step out of your limo and into a club on the arms of a couple of attractive men or women. So, it’s basically an escort service too.

Dayfame is a sad reflection of society’s complete and utter obsession with celebrity, where a fun night out isn’t with your friends or your family but with a load of camera-wielding middle-aged men and two strangers who probably can’t string together two interesting sentences. How tragic.