The Argentinian writer, Jorge Luis Borges, in his
bizarre short story/meta-literary essay, “Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote,” has his arch-Catholic narrator
make the acute observation that ‘Fame is a form of incomprehension, perhaps the
worst.’
I cannot think of a better way to formulate a notion
of fame; or, rather, I cannot think of a better way to understand the modern state of fame itself. Characterized as an inherent quality of the
famous individual(s), fame becomes the defining feature of their famousness. It
assumes its ‘incomprehension’ when the originating skill or set of skills that
exposed the famous person to a wide audience, hence granting them their fame as
that
person-who-does-this-thing-really-well-and-makes-me-happy-when-they-do-it—singing,
acting, playing guitar, dare devilry, whatever—becomes both overrated and secondary to the fame itself. They
are known for their skill, but it becomes imbued with much greater significance
than its quality warrants as the very fame they achieved on its back comes to
displace it while artificially elevating it.
They are famous for being famous because they got
famous doing that thing they are famous for. The thing that granted them fame is suddenly and peculiarly
incomprehensible, lost to the insecurities and strange contexts and hyperbole
of the fame it assisted in the finding of.
This, predictably enough, is a product of their
audience who basks in and cultivates the incomprehension of their idol’s fame.
They lose the seeding idea of their admiration and replace it with
wide-reaching and far-fetched theories that attempt to make sense of the collective
consciousness that has created the famous person before them. The actual sense,
even role, of the famous person is lost to the transference of this fame that
inevitably distorts their actual substance.
It is a practice of impossible self-identification in
an Other that attempts to ascertain what makes someone famous on more familiar,
normal and non-famous terms that cannot possibly account for the ambiguities
and inexact art of fame itself. Thus, it is a symbiotic relationship that can
only result in utter, albeit often deeply buried and well masked, confusion
that, eventually, comes to define it and generate it.
In this ‘Modern’ age, nothing speaks more for the
idiosyncrasies of fame’s incomprehension than the Internet. It is remarkable
for the fact that it almost eliminates, even skips past, the traditional need
for skill and embraces, instead, the intrinsic incomprehension of fame.
YouTube, then, is essentially a tribute to the pleasures of having no idea why
a fat man wearing only a koala mask, fairy wings, Power Ranger underpants and
some fetching loafers, who dances around waving a toilet role and screaming,
‘BANISH THE TOXIC PANTHER CATS!’ has achieved 3 million views. He is famous for
being that guy, and, ultimately, we
try to dissect why he is that guy. We
make him famous in our incomprehension, our desire to relate ourselves to this
mystery who has achieved 3 million YouTube views. But he cannot be related to,
because he probably has no comprehension of why he is doing this and why he is
suddenly famous.
He’ll embrace it. Fame will become him. We’ll make
him fame.
Of all the things that are ‘famous’ on the Internet
at the moment, I find myself gravitating toward the sudden and, if you think
about it, abnormally strange love of goats.
These are creatures that have been best known for being
grumpy, eating anything, crossing bridges protected by trolls (which may be
what discussion forums need to ward of trolls: digital billy goats) and ramming
things. Also, their cheese isn’t too bad.
The Internet has revealed, however, that they are
also capable of making a screaming sound that has hauntingly similar qualities
to humans
and, more particularly, Taylor Swift.
Also, they are capable of human emotion; of appearing
so chuffed with themselves that they can be thought of as ‘genuinely stoked.’
These are faces that can cheer one up in even the darkest moments of living
(when you’re out of lives on Candy Crush).
They should be the face of Christmas.
What this all essentially amounts to is the perfect
form of incomprehensible fame as proposed by Borges.
As I have sort of suggested, fame is about relating
oneself to someone or thing bigger. It is about locating a like-ground, even as
in the process of elevating someone or thing to fame we demolish any real
similarity. Fame is incomprehensible in the act of its creation.
Superficially, goats that sound and look like humans
are famous because we see ourselves in them—we are all screamingly content
goats at heart. But, beautifully and perfectly, they have no comprehension of
their fame (like my hypothetical fat man), which makes them potentially
endlessly famous. And we have no comprehension about why, besides the power of
the Internet, we suddenly find them more relatable than we did before.
We bestowed the initial fame on them for their
curious and weird human mimicry, which in itself is something we cannot
comprehend as being possible in such a usually cantankerous asshole of an
animal. What we find, then, is a desperate need to share them with others and
share, in particular, their incomprehensible
fame.
Screaming and smiling goats are famous because of
their incomprehensibility that defines their own naivety as Internet superstars
and our own bemusement at their self-sufficient fame.
They’re probably screaming because they don’t want to
be one hit wonders. No one has the heart to tell them that that is pretty much self-defeating.
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