Of course, admitting a fascination for celebrity is always taken as a sign of moral unseriousness in polite conversation, but as J.Rose points out celebrity, as a kind of ‘psychic fantasy,’ deserves to be treated if not quite seriously, then with some consideration as to what it might say about our collective sadism. I’m not interested in celebrity as a kind of galaxy in itself, but I do feel myself drawn to particular figures for reasons that are at times elusive, at times so unhip in their obviousness (the gay man’s love for a kind of single-minded devotion towards an ideal so overblown it undoes itself; the love of the kid who embodies a skill I would want to be true of myself.)
One celebrity I am recently into is designer Alexander Wang, and it is not directly related to his talent (of which he is clearly in ample posession), but more obliquely it has to do with the charm and self-assurance that having one’s talent recognized at such a young age must shore up. I also find him terribly, terribuly cute - the gorgeous hair, enormous eyes and lips on such a small face, and features so fine he seems to have been meticulously drawn by a fine-tip pen. But there is also something about him that could get away with murder, as he seems to always joyfully and effortlessly navigate social situations through which others would stumble sloppily.
Exhibit A is a youtube parody/tribute to the great Andy Warhol screen tests. And of course it misses the point of the Warhol entirely, but Alexander manages to look so compelling in an otherwise banal and predictable exercise. While his screen test lasts for a mere minute and a half something tells me he would be one of the few types to triumphally emerge even more mysterious than before if subjected to the full Warhol experience. More often than not the practiced cool of Warhol’s subjects collapsed through the decontextualizing absurdity of the static camera, and the mirage of tacit beauty in his beautiful boys was demystified into mere vapdity. By being so cute Alexander would deceive us into thinking he was also inoffensive, which, if an armour is a genius armour - as he always appears so poised and polished, yet his care-free reputation renders the suspicion of any insecurity or want undectable.
Exhibit B instead could so easily be an odious little video of fashionista entitlement, yet while Erin (his stlyist/glorified fag-hag) comes across as a contrived social animal with her nicotine huskiness and predatory self-awareness drawing attention to the obvious needs and insecurities those gimmics attempt to veil (that said I find her sweet), Alexander simply looks adorable and lovable - even as he dances with a bottle to his mouth and Erin’s ill-advised voice-over arrogantly proclaims that this is their world. He remains unscathed, even celebrated in the comments section, while the rest are sent to the guillotine.
