Why It's Great You'll Never Be Famous
Matthew Perry, the true price of fame, and what it really means to be an 'entertainer'
Lately, a spate of humiliating videos was released of 90s heart-throbs like Matthew Perry and Ben Affleck creeping on girls young enough to be their daughters over social media. While I don’t intend to pass judgment on what people choose to do with their free time, I would like to dispel the illusion of celebrity and offer a little empathy.
An allegory, of sorts:
Let's pretend for a moment, that all the conspiracy theories about having to perform Satanic rituals, signing your name in blood, and getting boned at Eyes Wide Shut parties are real. It doesn't take talent or acting ability or even particularly good looks to get with the "in" crowd, just a willingness to do unspeakable things in a dark room full of hooded cultists. In the end, they take you into "the room where it happens" or Mephistopheles materializes in your hotel room (take your pick) and once the paperwork's sorted, you get what you've always wanted: lifelong fame in return for your soul.
Thing is, those interest payments on your soul don't start after you die. Eternal damnation begins now. It's the classic devil's bargain: you get exactly what you want, now hate it.
I make commercials, and I've worked with celebrities. Nobody wants to act like someone who loves the taste of processed garbage after the 37th "bite-and-smile" take, or tell the same inane anecdote about how their coworker is a great guy on every talk show on the planet.
Drugs make it barely tolerable.
You think all those world-famous celebs are constantly coked-up, rehabbing, drunk-driving, and shaving their heads because they love their jobs? You think just because teenagers are saving pictures of you as their wallpapers that anybody actually likes *you*? The public doesn't like Brad Pitt, they don't know Brad Pitt. Brad Pitt is just a pleasant face upon which the collective unconscious can project its wants and desires. Brad Pitt had to go to acting school, empty out his personality (for Jung, personality and soul were the same things), and embody the persona that we wanted for a 20th-21st century leading man.
That's the real reason you should never meet your heroes. Once you do, they'll start doing all sorts of things that don't line up with who you fantasized them to be, and you'll realize you've wasted all this time idolizing a lump of flesh instead of a living statue.
Some celebs don't realize that the pigeonhole is the only thing keeping the public's attention on them. The moment Megan Fox joked to FHM about leaving poops in her toilet was the moment American manhood collectively lost their erections for her. The gods of fame aren’t done with her yet, though. Today she’s a plastic surgery cautionary tale.
For men, the persona tends to last a little longer. People don't mind as much if the abs aren't as defined on the male statues, or if it's getting a bit grey at the top. Eventually, though, everyone turns into a lump of flesh in the limelight. So what happens when the public no longer has a use for your persona and you didn't have enough sense, talent, or connections to scurry behind the curtain and become a producer/director? When the Millennials and Zoomers who grew up hating Friends become the target demo? Do you fade into obscurity forever? Does the devil give you your soul back? **cue demonic laughter** No, Mr. Perry, you just become famous for being pathetic.
During the Friends era, he might have been young and naive and able to get one-night stands simply by being the other Matt on Friends. That's the perk of being famous, endless casual sex with fawning groupies. Crack a few Chandler one-liners, promise them a role in your next project, everyone gets to live out their fantasy. But what happens when you've had enough of waking up empty and hollow and want an actual connection? You look for a blank slate in people who are too young to have watched Friends, too young to even watch network TV. You sign up to a "private" dating/networking group thinking that everyone on there knows the rules. (Dude, admission is the subscription price of Netflix, what'd you expect? Since exclusivity was never measured by monetary value where Matthew works, he couldn't know it was actually a honey trap ruled by fame whores).
I don’t know what Matthew Perry’s feeling, I can’t really picture being in his shoes. Maybe he’s holed up somewhere, doing another line and downing another shot of tequila, cursing everyone who seems to know who he is but himself. Maybe he’s happy to be getting any attention at all. But a friend of mine told me a joke once that stuck with me:
The Rolling Stones meet the devil at the crossroads and trade their souls to make music that never dies. The Faustian catch doesn't come until much later. When most octagenarians are hugging their grandkids and shuffling off into the great beyond, the increasingly ghoulish visages of Mick and Keith are still coming to a coliseum near you.
Just as the Stones will have to play "Jumpin’ Jack Flash", "Start Me Up", and “Beast of Burden” on repeat for eternity, Matthew Perry will never not be playing "Chandler".
“I've worked with celebrities. Nobody wants to act like someone who loves the taste of processed garbage …” A lot of us also made devil’s bargains in the name of being self-supporting. Hard to avoid damnation in this world…