Why do celebrity deaths matter? Why the outpouring of grief for a person we’ve never truly known?
Anthropologists tell us that so-called primitive societies — wherever in the world — had a few near constants. One of these was the identification of self — of their particular tribe or clan — as “the people.” Everyone else was “the other.”
This human trait continues to the present. We may belong to multiple clans now — family, friends, school, work, church, community, nation, sports teams, whatever. But we still belong — and to some extent everyone who doesn’t belong to our clan is still “the other.”
Celebrities, however, transcend clan. They are the others that we welcome into our lives because they touch it in unique and exciting ways — their humor, their style, their music.
Much too simple I know, but that’s what I think both makes them celebrities, and causes us to grieve for them when they go.
And Billy Mays too. That’s four in one week. It’s supposed to be only three. Hmmm… terrorists?
Hmm, I think the nature of the media makes it feel like these celebrities *are* a part of our clan.
I mean, so many of us saw Michael Jackson in the living room, repeated over and over and over every day. Especially in the early days of MTV. Heck, I grew up with him. His music pervaded my growth. I listed to Thriller a million times, I wore out a cassette tape. His dance moves are part of our culture. So maybe in a way some people feel like he’s part of the clan, he’s family.
Some folks have trouble making separation about that, too…that just because they are there all the time doesn’t mean they know you back.
The first time I went to Spring Training, I had to remind myself of that. Despite the fact that these baseball players were every day in my home, and I know a lot about them, batting average, birthdate, where they were born, human interest stories told by the announcers, I feel like I know them well and they know me not at all.
It’s weird.
While I’m sad about all three deaths (and David Carradine too), but I’m not prepared to go to the Jackson’s former home in Gary, Indiana and moonwalk around the lawn (as I saw several doing).
I guess everyone has to grieve in their own way.