The Truth About Celebrity Worship: A Culture of Superficiality or a Reflection of Our Own Unfulfilled Dreams?

Celebrity worship—scrutinized, ridiculed, perpetuated—is a cultural contradiction worth examining. It’s easy to dismiss the phenomenon as absurd, to scoff at the idea of elevating mortals to deity-like status. But beneath the fascination lies something more revealing: our unfulfilled aspirations, our longing for transcendence, and our reluctance to confront the ordinary truths of our own lives. The fault doesn’t lie with celebrities. It lies with our refusal to face the mirror.

Celebrity is often just the consequence of visibility. Performing—on stage, in film, music, sports, politics—creates attention. And attention breeds elevation. We misread intention, assuming people chase fame for fame’s sake, when most are chasing something quieter: the fulfillment of a passion, the pursuit of a life that feels like their own. Ironically, those who reach the highest levels of visibility are often the ones least concerned with being seen. What draws us in is their audacity to explore their passions, their refusal to settle, and their insistence on building something more. Most celebrities didn’t inherit their status. They weren’t grandfathered in. They struggled. They worked menial jobs. They inched forward. They found a way to balance passion with what everyone else calls “work.”

And yet, we criticize them. We mock their choices. We dissect their lives. But we still show up. We watch their films, attend their games and concerts. We want extravagance. We want beauty. We want to escape. We invented celebrity worship. It wasn’t imposed on us. Celebrities are just living the lives we expect them to live. We demand that they speak and then punish them for using their voices. We want them to be beautiful, but not too beautiful. Rich, but not too rich. We set impossible standards and then criticize them for meeting them. We project our own insecurities onto people who dared to build something of their own.

Let’s be honest, personal taste is overrated. Celebrities are the style gurus. We follow their lead. We emulate their outfits, their jewelry, their physiques. We criticize them for being superficial, but we created the standard. We sexualized them. We imagined them. We projected our aspirations onto them. And now we’re trying to redefine what they should look like, starting from a place of hypocrisy. Power can only be bestowed. Politicians, activists, celebrities—they’re all the same in that regard. The powerful are powerful because we allow them to be. That’s democracy at its most fundamental. Celebrities shape public opinion because we listen, and they lead because we follow. And is that so wrong?

We say we want change, but we still want them to fashion our fantasy. We want them to be relatable, but not too real. We want them to be humble, but not too ordinary. We want them to reflect our ideals, but only the ones we’re comfortable with. And when they don’t, we cancel them. There’s a floating hypocrisy, an invisible orb that attaches itself to people, detaches, and finds new hosts. Most don’t see it. Most don’t feel it. But it’s shaping our behavior. Sometimes I feel like we’re living in a contemporary version of They Live.

We can’t accept belief systems; we can’t tolerate how someone else lives outside our dogma of “social progress.” What seems like willful ignorance to me is now conventionally acceptable. Young people believe it’s evolution. I’m confused by our ability to excuse some celebrities for having money and power while criticizing others for the same thing—musicians, somehow, have escaped the wrath.

Have you ever wondered where to find profound insight or life-changing advice? Some turn to the internet. But have you considered your favorite celebrity? Because they’ve lived. They’ve worked. They’ve learned. Many films are based on history. Many are shot on location. These experiences provide celebrities with insight that most of us, including policymakers, don’t have. Because they have time, they have resources, and while you imagine them lounging under tropical leaves or partying endlessly, most spend their time learning. They explore. They study. They grow. They didn’t wake up after a bender and decide to become ambassadors of progress.

I respect anyone who explores their passions. Most people don’t even know what they’re passionate about. Because we settle, we make excuses: “I didn’t have the means.” “I couldn’t afford the risk.” But when we want something with conviction, we find a way. We’re all capable. Excuses are just easier. We’d all trade places with a celebrity, even after a lifetime of hating them. And yes, some celebrities have never known struggle—this essay isn’t for them. I’ve written about meeting people of fame with reverence. This is where that reverence comes from. I’ve worked tirelessly to build a life for myself: I’ve made sacrifices. And I’ve made excuses. I’ve nearly given up, but I kept going.

I’ve met several celebrities over the years—and it’s always a little fun to name drop, so— meeting Michael Keaton, Paul McCartney, Ed Harris, Willem Dafoe, Cormac McCarthy, Buzz Aldrin, Sam Shepard, Lee Child, Jon Gries, George R. R. Martin, Lee Greenwood, Adam Silvera, Lewis Black, Dan Brown, Joseph Cross, Armistead Maupin, Kevin Kline, Olivia Williams, Daniel London, Brad Zellar, Amanda Seyfried, Rachel Cook, and Colbie Caillat, the thing that intrigues me is that each of them struggled. Each of them sacrificed. Each of them pursued art that allowed them to build a life. Most from scratch. Because they knew no one else would do it for them. And that’s amazing.

Before we disappear into the wake of our favorite celebrity, let’s reflect on the absurdity. Work should reflect passion. Effort should reflect conviction. The standard we set for those who dare to build something of their own is impossible. We’re all capable. But we rarely risk failure. We project our shortcomings onto those who couldn’t imagine living without exploring their passions. We criticize them for using their time and resources to learn, to grow, to share. Celebrity worship is our unwillingness to discover what we value about ourselves in the lives of others.

Celebrity worship feeds superficiality. But celebrities don’t. Most challenged themselves to believe in something. They broke the rules. They contested norms. They followed their bliss through doubt and failure. Efforts most of us wouldn’t even consider. The next time you find yourself caught up in the frenzy, take a step back. There’s more to life than the façade of fame. At day’s end, celebrities are just people too.