I've made it pretty clear that I'm not a fan of life playing out on social media. Just scroll through my other commentaries in recent weeks. You'll see.
One particular phenomenon consistently piques my interest, and honestly, raises a few eyebrows: the elevated title of "influencer." (And I will always, always, always put it in quotation marks because it's not a thing. It's not.) It's a modern-day equivalent, or so it seems, to what we once termed "celebrity."
Yet, for me, the comparison falls apart when you truly examine what "celebrity" used to signify versus what its contemporary counterpart embodies. I find myself pondering if, in our eagerness to categorize digital prominence, we haven't inadvertently lowered the very bar we once set for widespread recognition.
Let's cast our minds back to what "celebrity" truly meant in the not-so-distant past.
In the realm of showbiz, an individual earned the moniker of "celebrity" because their name resonated with millions of people. We’re talking about household names, individuals whose faces were instantly recognizable, whose work had permeated the collective consciousness on a truly grand scale. If you mentioned a "celebrity" back then, you were referring to someone whom your grandmother, your neighbor and a random person across the country would have heard of. Their fame wasn't confined to a niche group or a specific demographic; it was broad, pervasive and undeniable. To suggest that a "celebrity" was only known by tens of thousands of people would have been met with outright laughter and dismissal. They simply wouldn't have qualified.
Fast forward to today, and we're inundated with the term "influencer." These individuals, typically rising to prominence on social media platforms, garner tens of thousands, sometimes hundreds of thousands, of followers. They command attention within their specific niches – be it beauty, gaming, lifestyle or finance. I readily acknowledge their ability to influence purchasing decisions, trends and opinions within their dedicated communities. (Though that also speaks to the sheep-like society we're in.) They have built engaged audiences and that is certainly commendable. The digital age has undeniably democratized access to an audience, allowing anyone with a smartphone and a compelling personality to carve out a space for themselves.
Where my perspective diverges sharply is when the distinction between "influencer" and the traditional idea of "celebrity" blurs.
It's fascinating, and frankly, a bit perplexing, to see "influencers" making mainstream headlines or being celebrated on national platforms, even when the vast majority of the general public haven't the faintest idea who they are. They aren't household names by "celebrity" standards. Their fame, while significant within their digital echo chambers, often doesn't transcend those boundaries into the broader cultural landscape in the way a true celebrity's once did. I've often found myself hearing of an "influencer" in mainstream news and having to Google them, only to confirm my suspicion that I'm completely unfamiliar with their work (maybe even "work" should be in quotes), despite their reported "influence." This experience is a far cry from, say, hearing about a major movie star or musician from yesteryear.
This leads me to an inescapable conclusion: we have, whether consciously or not, lowered the bar and the threshold for what constitutes a widely recognized figure. It feels as though the sheer numerical count of followers has become the ultimate metric, superseding the qualitative measure of true, widespread cultural impact.
The focus has shifted from being known by millions across diverse demographics to being known by tens of thousands, or even hundreds of thousands, within a specific, often self-selecting, online community. It's transformed into a numbers game, a race for follower counts, likes and engagement rates, sometimes at the expense of genuine, cross-cultural recognition.
I believe this shift reflects not just a change in media consumption habits, but a fundamental alteration in our collective understanding of fame.
While the digital age offers incredible opportunities for connection and niche community building, I can't help but feel that we've diluted the very essence of what "celebrity" once represented. It was a status reserved for those whose reach felt almost boundless, whose names were uttered in millions of conversations, whose influence was truly pervasive.
Now, it seems, a healthy follower count on a social media platform is enough to elevate someone to a pedestal that, by historical standards, would have been considered laughably low. As I observe this phenomenon, I am left to wonder what this evolving definition of prominence means for our culture, and if, in celebrating the readily accessible numbers, we risk overlooking the profound, universal resonance that once defined a true celebrity.