Celebrities have always had an outsized sense of self-importance. They have always flaunted their wealth, but the pandemic-induced economic collapse has made me feel increasingly uneasy about it.
In 2007, before Instagram existed and celebrities could carefully curate their public image, Britney Spears’ iconic meltdown was big news, a story that was wickedly entertaining and unbelievably sad. “I don’t want everybody touching me,” she said at the time, per Us Weekly. “I’m tired of everyone touching me.”
I could lose myself in the drama because it illustrated the pitfalls of superstardom. Sure, it was near impossible to find a job at the time, but it’s not like anyone read about Britney and thought, “If only that could be me!” It was a feel-bad story, the tragic tale of someone driven to the edge by fame. As the economy slid into a recession, tracking Britney’s breakdown was a totally immersive experience, a vehicle to forget about yourself.
Sitting in my apartment, like I’ve been doing every day for the past three months, I find myself returning to a quote from an article about nannies working for super rich families during lockdown: “If you have money, you have no fear. You’re not afraid of anything.” Every time a celebrity attempts to brighten our days by providing entertainment from their mansion — like Kate Bekinsale sitting on her kitchen counter playing hairdresser to her grumpy cat, or Jennifer Garner bopping along to a TikTok dance in her enormous laundry room — I am reminded there are people who don’t have to be afraid right now, and how unfair that is.
In the before time I was better able to shrug off extreme displays of celebrity wealth because I felt comfortably middle-class, significantly less afraid of not being able to pay my bills, and somewhat optimistic about my ability to earn money in the future. I would slurp up an item about the $325,000 mansion Paris Hilton bought for her dogs in 2009, sneering at her conspicuous consumption without feeling worried about my own position in the world. Building a six-figure dog mansion was a behavior that was so obscene, it made it impossible for me to feel any sort of yearning for her life. The celebs, they’re all criminals, I would think to myself with a smile. And I can’t wait to read more about them,
In the days of yore, billionaire David Geffen posting an Instagram of his yacht might have gone unnoticed; now it’s a patch in the quilt of tone-deaf celebrity social media posts that are laying groundwork for a 21st century class war. The masses can delight in scolding Geffen for being so out-of-touch, but he’s still on top, self-isolating on a luxury boat in the Grenadines while you’re worrying about whether you can afford groceries next week. I’m a winner, his Instagram suggests. And you’re a loser.
The pandemic has altered our relationship with celebrity culture, maybe forever. Celebrities once had movies to star in, press junkets to suffer through, runway shows to walk in, and world tours to embark on, all of which were crucial to maintaining their personality cults. They might be filthy rich but they were still entertainers, they were still working for us.
Now, celebrity coronavirus content tends to be charmless. In their TikTok uploads and Instagram stories, they aren’t acting anymore. Instead, they’re looking at us in the eye, and like us, they are naked and scared.
But unlike us they’re still safe. No matter how hard they try, they have no idea what it feels like to be a normal person right now. And even though they’re living in a slightly different universe than we are, following their lives no longer provides solace. Whether it be through a quarantine selfie on Instagram or a good-intentioned PSA, they remind of all the terrifying things happening in the world right now. We always knew celebrities couldn’t save us, but now they can’t even help us circumvent reality. What are they even good for anymore?