That might sound peculiar. A popular humor writer like myself, admitting that he doesn’t want to be famous.
But we all know what happens when you get famous. It’s not all sunshine and roses.
I’m thinking this morning about Britney Spears, the “Princess of Pop”. The best-selling teenage recording artist of all time, and a much-sought-after source of celebrity endorsements. When she lent her name to a new Elizabeth Arden perfume, Curious, in 2004, it had sales of $100 million in the first year.
Not that I would endorse a perfume. But did fame bring her happiness? Sure, having millions of dollars to spend on clothes and cars and drugs presents a certain attraction. But you pay a price, so to speak. I would not want to be 35 years old and still asking my dad’s permission to drive the car, because the courts imposed a ‘conservatorship’ on me.
Luckily, Britney had a lot of loyal fans willing to stand up for her, encouraging her to hire her own lawyers. Having your own lawyers is a necessary thing, when you’re famous.
Other famous people were not so lucky, as we know from history. They paid the ultimate price for their fame.
Abraham Lincoln, for example. Ernest Hemmingway. Janis Joplin. Julius Caesar. Vincent Van Gogh.
None of those famous folks even had a chance to endorse a perfume. (As of 2022, Britney has released 36 fragrances under her brand, more than half of which include the word “Fantasy” in the name. A not-so-hidden message to consumers?)
One of the most famous people whom I would not want to be, in 2022, is Donald Trump. Can you believe the horde of political enemies who are pestering him with lawsuits and accusations? He keeps a few classified documents in his closet and the next thing you know, the FBI is raiding his bedroom.
I would not want the FBI raiding my bedroom, and I’m pretty sure that will never happen, as long as I don’t become famous. What are they imagining they would find? If they found some of my missing socks, that would be nice, I guess. But how embarrassing, to have the FBI locating your mismatched socks.
Former President Trump has not, to my knowledge, endorsed a perfume, but he did once post a photo of himself in the Oval Office, with Goya brand chocolate wafers sitting on the desk in front of him.
But I don’t think the endorsement — whatever they might be worth — can make up for the trouble that comes with being famous.
I mentioned Vincent Van Gogh, but he actually wasn’t even famous, when he died in 1890 of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. I’ve read that he sold only one painting, or maybe two, while he was alive, even though he produced over 900 pieces… including perhaps his most famous, ‘Starry Night,’ painted while he was a patient at the Saint-Paul de Mausole lunatic asylum.
Which of course begs the question: is it worse to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune… when you’re famous, and still alive… or when you don’t know you’re going to be famous after you die?
Not that I need to know the answer. I plan never to become famous, before or after. It’s a promise I made to myself… and to my ex-wife, back when we were discussing alimony arrangements.
At any rate, Britney Spears seems to have worked things out, finally… getting married (again) and finally getting a court order dissolving the conservatorship that had allowed her father to essentially control her life for 11 years, after she landed in a psychiatric ward in 2008.
How many famous people have spent time in psychiatric wards? I wonder.
People told me I was crazy when I married Darlene, but I didn’t listen. They were right, of course. I was certifiably insane.
But at least I wasn’t famous, thank goodness.
Underrated writer Louis Cannon grew up in the vast American West, although his ex-wife, given the slightest opportunity, will deny that he ever grew up at all.