Celebs Aren’t Your IRL Friends
I actively and consistently listen to three podcasts: “WTF with Marc Maron”, “Comedy Bang Bang” and a podcast about “Game of Thrones”.
I love the intimacy of podcasts, particularly when you’re listening through headphones and the hosts speak directly into your ears. I find a joy in stifling fits of laughter on the subway, giggling at a secret joke only I can hear. Alas, I once fell victim to this illusion of rapport between host and listener.
I discovered the “Game of Thrones” podcast when it began three-and-a-half years ago. Soon, my college roommate and I became as enamored of the podcast as we were the actual show. We listened to it together in the car, discussing their discussions. We referred to the hosts by their first names, comfortable labeling the behavior of these people we’d never met as typical and “so like them.” We had a fandom within a fandom, each made stronger by the other.
Two years later, the summer after college, I was offered my first full-time job. Not only that, but my new grown-up job needed me to travel! It just so happened that my destination, Las Vegas, was potentially home to one of the hosts (though I was unsure, going off of only passing references in the podcast). Perhaps fueled by the adrenaline of my job success, I sent this host an email with the subject “uhh I’m not weird I promise”, asking if, maybe, he would like to meet up — that is, if he did indeed live there?? Miraculously, he responded.
We started talking, first via email, then via text message. It turned out we wouldn’t be in Las Vegas at the same time. But even after that, was established the conversation kept going. He texted me, “I forget we’re not friends.” I got a vague shoutout on one episode. I sent him pictures of a meal I was making; he sent me photos of his dog. At this point, everything was going better than I had ever thought possible. Our lifelong friendship was all but guaranteed, and what a great story we’d have about how we met!
After a month or so of texting, it culminated in a Skype voice call (no video). It was downhill after that. An all too familiar pattern emerged: one of a guy losing interest. I would send a text and hours went by without a response. Then maybe a day. Then no response at all. I was disheartened. I felt weird about it. He followed me on no social media; we were not Facebook friends. I didn’t know if he knew what I looked like. We were not instant best friends — we weren’t even friend friends.
Throughout our correspondence I was hyper-aware of my every word, careful to not seem too eager, or forward, or, heavens forbid, needy. I decided I simply could not effectively convey sanity and chillitude through text. Though I was initially hurt and embarrassed by his gradual ghosting, I eventually came to regard it as a fun, weird experience. I concluded that if indeed we were ever to be friends, we would have to meet face-to-face.
And then, just a few weeks ago, all three hosts came to New York. The event was at the Hard Rock Café in Times Square as part of New York Comic Con. I bought my ticket as soon as I found out, and texted him that I would totes be attending, deeming that less weird than just showing up. His response: “Awesome / I’ll get to meet ya.”
The night was a disaster. It started an hour late. The friend I brought was unfamiliar with the podcast and wanted to sit in the last row of the upper level. We popped out part way through to get her food. There was a costume contest, a spelling bee and a panel with several “Game of Thrones” actors moderated by the podcast. I heard almost nothing being said on stage. My friend left early and by the time Kristian Nairn — the actor who plays Hodor on the TV show — came on to DJ his headlining set I was by myself, sober and in a crowd of mostly stationary nerds (to whom dancing does not always come naturally).
Then it was over at 12:30. With no sign of the hosts I left, defeated. I didn’t get to meet anyone after all. I understand that from its inception our relationship was one-sided. I felt like I had known this person for years and he had a month’s worth of texts from a context-less stranger. That’s not to say digital friendships can’t be incredibly strong and real, but they need to start on equal footing and mutual interest. Even if someone is presenting their authentic selves online, it can only be a fraction of who they are, and they certainly don’t know you.
A Snapchat from a celebrity looks the same as one from a friend, their Instagram photos just as candid. I think this peeking into the personal lives of the famous (big or small) dupes us into thinking we know them as individuals. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the Kardashians, who have spent over 10 years on TV airing their personal dramas, are often referred to and certainly recognizable by their first names alone.
But let me be clear: by no means do I regret my actions. I took a risk and I learned from it. I still wholeheartedly believe if someone, anyone, is making or doing something you love and admire, you should tell them. And then go make your own content.
