The Academic Celebrity: Paragon of Honour or Monster in the Making?
Chantelle Caissie, Ph.D. Candidate
Faculty of Education, Memorial University of Newfoundland
When I think of the word “celebrity,” the image of a red carpet, flashing lights, and the pleading cry of a relentless shutterbug, “Over here! Over here!” comes to mind — it’s paparazzi, pandemonium, glamour. While this image may not provide a rich or nuanced perspective on the word “celebrity,” I think what it does provide is a familiar, if not universal, image that we can hang our understanding on.
If the word celebrity can conjure such an image, then what does the phrase “academic celebrity” evoke? While there is no real definition that I know of, I do believe that my own experience navigating the academy may lend itself as a useful starting point.
A few years ago, after having completed my Master’s Degree, I was introduced and scheduled to meet with an established scholar in the field whom I held in high regard and found much pedagogical resonance with. They were a renowned scholar, widely published, cited, and recognized for their valuable contributions to the field. However, to my disappointment, the meeting did not go as I had hoped. The scholar had shown up late and appeared rather aggravated by the very fact that they had to meet with me, forgetting perhaps that they had extended the invitation in the first place. I had spent the better part of that meeting being drilled with nonsensical questions, hypothetical scenarios, and carrot-dangling opportunities that I can only now assume were bogus. The meeting felt like a game of cat and mouse. This experience left me with more than just a lump in my throat. The phrase, “Never meet your heroes,” echoed in my mind, leaving me to wonder: Do scholars truly embody the ideas in which they write and publish? Or, are writers simply withdrawing words from the Royal Bank of “Academic Bullshit” (Badley, 2020, p. 248)?
I recognize that the label ‘academic bull-shitter’ may come across as a bit harsh; after all, no one wants to have their contributions reduced to nothing more than pretentious nonsense. Graham Badley (2020), a professor of academic development and writing, maintains that such accusations from our critics may be difficult to accept largely due to the fact that there may be some truth in them.
According to Sara Ahmed (2019), a feminist scholar and writer, “fitting in” becomes a strategy of survival within the academy. Indeed, she likens the institution to a well-worn garment, noting that “an institution [becomes] easier to wear if you have the same shape as the shape of those who came before” (p. 165). Having reflected on Ahmed’s thoughts, I can’t help but wonder whether the status of “academic celebrity,” a monster of our own making, is merely one of many survival tactics that academics adopt. While such status may come with recognition, clout, and a dedicated following, I have often found myself wondering what had to be cut off or severed in order to achieve this paragon of honour. Badley (2019) notes that as academics, we develop our voices intellectually (epistemologically) and personally (ontologically). However, if we do not feel affirmed and valued as persons, we may, whether consciously or unconsciously, reshape our voices in the likeness of others in order to become what “fits in.” Indeed, becoming what “fits” may prevent us as scholars from developing strong ontological voices that support the development of epistemological and, I would argue, pedagogical voices of merit (Badley, 2019).
Perhaps the superstar, leader of light, “big cheese,” the good ol’ VIP (very important person) need not be academic at all. For example, in her article, “Moving beyond (id)entities, toward emergent becomings of the world and its mattering,” educational scholar Bronwyn Davies (2022) reflects on her experience of adulthood by looking back on childhood memories. She writes,
“When I was about 5 or 6 years old, walking home from school one hot summer’s afternoon, I stopped to gaze at a tree whose green leaves were glinting red and gold. Shafts of sunlight had pierced the looming, grey violet rainclouds. I stood there, transfixed. Suddenly, all the leaves of the tree fluttered, and a moment later, a cool breeze caressed my face” (p. 311).
What’s really important to me is not so much Davies’s experience of adulthood looking back at childhood memories to see how that has formed her identity but rather the acknowledgement that our dance with memories of the past informs our always-becoming future. In thinking back on those experiences, she engages in reflexive thinking, considering how such experiences may now be recalled differently, forgotten altogether, or perhaps replaced with other new experiences. Indeed, in this return, it is not simply our relational rememberings of self and event that draws my focus, but rather how our various selves continue to be (re)crafted, (re)edited, and (re)shaped in the process of new living (Davies, 2022).
Perhaps the status of “celebrity” extends beyond the walls of academia. Instead, a “celebrity” may be something or someone who has had a profound impact on our being, forming the loom upon which our very soul has been woven. If academics seek to nurture their ontological voices, perhaps they can truly embody the words in which they write, developing an epistemological voice of merit that has been created by them, rather than for them.
References
Ahmed, S. (2019). Use and the university. In S. Ahmed (Ed.), What’s the use?: On the uses of use (pp. 141–196). Duke University Press.
Badley, G. F. (2019). Post-academic writing: Human writing for human readers. Qualitative Inquiry, 25(2), 180–191. https://doi.org/10.1177/1077800417736334
Davies, B. (2022). Moving beyond (id)entities, toward emergent becomings of the world and its mattering. Australian Journal of Environmental Education, 38(3–4), 311–327. https://doi.org/10.1017/aee.2021.20
