We are mothereffin’ starboys.
Imagine waking up on a fine Sunday morning : no work to do, no deadlines to attend to. You sleepily reach out for your phone. Then somehow drag yourself out of bed to make a steaming hot cup of coffee. Then you go in your quaint little balcony (sorry to hurt the sentiments of Mumbaikars), still in your pajamas, your hair tousled, the cup of coffee in your hand, and not a care in the world. Not at least for the next couple of minutes, which is a time totally dedicated to yourself.
Imagine your phone pinging in the next few moments, and you find yourself staring at your photo, looking exactly how you’re looking at this moment, like your 5 seconds- past self staring back at you from a glossy screen, laced with headlines like:
“Watch exclusive pictures of ABC at her sloppiest self on a Sunday morning!”
“First to report, ABC without makeup with dark circles so huge, they’d eclipse the moon.”
“Just in: ABC’s morning ritual photo by photo. Stay tuned.”
Even the thought of being hounded after seconds of waking up, for the most mundane task of yours seems horrifying. Imagine being subjected to this for every damn moment of your life. The clothes you wear, the hairstyle you wear, even the freaking ice-cream flavour you choose; everything will be scrutinized under a telescope and then broadcasted for public viewing. Who wouldn’t go crazy? No wonder celebrities do not lead a normal life, because we simply don’t let them. True, there’s that age old argument ‘they signed up for this when they chose the celebrity life’. But what we fail to understand is, they didn’t sign up for selling their soul. They didn’t sign up for putting their personal life and past under scanner.
The spotlight is harsh, it wrecks your mental peace, your relationships. Because million pairs of eyes are glued to what dessert you are having for your first date.
And aren’t we turning into little celebrities ourselves? Almost every other person is famous on the web for being good at something — even better — being terrible at something. It is easy to get the 15 minutes of fame in this lovely time we are living in. Internet is like your mushy Indian mother:it makes all of us feel that we ALL are special, and we are absolutely the best at whatever mediocre things we are doing! We are little starlets of our small little world, and we consider our audience privileged and curious enough for dying to see our pretty faces laced with 56 filters and 300 kissing emojis.
The likes and retweets are our marijuana. We are living off the attention, even though we haven’t worked our ass off for it. We think we are worthy of it, even when we know we haven’t done enough to earn it. And if and when a Modiji comes in our life and demonetizes the followers, we’ll be left with a lot of empty nothingness in our hands.