We Were Celebrities: What We Thought We Wanted from the Digital Universe

a collection of thoughts on human existence in a world where power is effortless, and everyone and their cat is an influencer

Let me talk to you about the Influencers Initiative.

Before the bluelight dawn of the digital universe, the Influencers Initiative was a highly exclusive club; only the elite—the movie stars, the rockstars, the pro athletes, the politicians (I’m not sure who let them in)—were handed a pass that allowed them into the country clubs, onto the TVs, and into what was called “pop culture.”

These were giants among men. It seemed, possibly, that they might be large enough, even, to pluck stars straight from the heavens (legend has it that those were what they planted along Hollywood Boulevard). Magical people, really—if you could call them people; they might have been something else.

Celebrity, n.

1: the state of being celebrated

2: a famous or celebrated person

And what lives these people led! All the luxury you can imagine: the best food, the best parties, the fastest cars, the largest houses in a place with the best weather; gawking fans hanging on their every move, their every word, their every breath, worshiping them like gods. Members of the Influencers Initiative could expect to spend their lives in a constant state of being recognized—of being celebrated. They may as well have been granted superhuman social prowess.

Many average people, knowing they could never expect an invitation to the Influencer’s Initiative, obsessed over these figures, living vicariously through them, fantasizing about what a sublime dream their existence must be, while others thought little about them at all. Why should they, anyway?

Then, enter social media.

“The defining superpower of the moment, social media, goes to the very core of our human design, our design for love. Social media has given almost everyone a taste of the kind of recognition and affirmation that used to be available only to a handful of movie stars and television personalities.” –Andy Crouch, The Life We’re Looking For

Suddenly, an open invitation to the Influencer’s Initiative was extended. To the public! To you. To me. To anyone with a smart phone and an internet connection.

Suddenly, we were celebrities.

Because we’re human—designed for connection, for affirmation, for love—we could hardly pass this up. All of a sudden, at our fingertips lay a revolving door of celebration: likes, comments, follows—like those little mushrooms in Mario! The power was ours for the taking, and we’ve gorged ourselves on it. The digital world was our oyster.

Unfortunately, it often isn’t until we’re hopelessly drunk that it begins to dawn on us: “[…] power without effort, it turns out, diminishes us as much as it delights us.” (The Life We’re Looking For)

Take the original members of the Influencer’s Initiative: the movie stars, the TV personalities, the pop stars. Do they seem…happy?

On the surface, sure. Of course. When you’re that popular, that famous, that recognized, what’s not to love?

Well, the hangover. That’s what.

What began as an exhilarating buzz of power—people actually cared what you had to say; they’d lurk on The Feed, waiting eagerly for a tiny glimpse into your life!—plowed onward into a spiral of doom and despair as it became apparent that everything in that world is an illusion; outside your door, on your street, nobody even knows your name and you don’t know theirs. You wake slowly, your head a brick and your senses dulled.

“The super power zone,” as Andy Crouch refers to the Influencer’s Initiative, “spiraling into malaise and addiction, is a taste of hell.”

I can’t tell you how many celebrities I’ve heard admit that, behind the cameras and the champagne and the red carpets, they’re lonely. Actually lonely. It seems that being a giant among men makes you exciting to gawk at, but impossible to get close to, to really know. And human beings want to be known.

When the digital world first came along, offering us the opportunity to join the Influencer’s Initiative, we thought we knew what it meant to be known. We thought it meant to be recognized; to be celebrated. To have a blue checkmark next to our names, or a golden YouTube play button on our wall. And sure, these things meant you were “popular,” but that isn’t the same. We thought we knew what we wanted, and we thought the digital universe, like a genie in a bottle, could grant us that wish.

It’s only beginning to become apparent that we were wrong.

The most perceptive and the most honest among us are beginning to realize—and admit—that we were tricked, lured in by the champagne promise of superpowers and stardom. Or, at least, a handful of people who really, really liked us.

Even those of us who barely scratched 1,000 followers on any social media site could feel the pressure to perform. And then to conform. Feed the algorithmic machine, and let it feed you. After all, the Devouring Mother of the digital longhouse knows best!

We thought we wanted effortless power, to become celebrities, and then we were. As Orwell wrote, “three hundred million people all with the same face.”

And we were alone.