So yesterday I went to see JT in concert. That is of course, Justin Timberlake. Him and I are on just initials basis, because so is the rest of the western world. Here’s a little about my journey to meet God, I mean…the 20/20 experience tour.
We walked into the Audi corporate box with the expected sense of bravado you would assumingly think appropriate. I titled my nose up and pursed my lips and made a bee-line for the bread rolls. Whilst we waited for the start of the concert-champagne and bread roll in hand-we scoffed at the DJ, the mosh pit and the hoards of titillated female fans chattering whilst their male partners sunk deeper into their pockets.
Suddenly, it began. (Half an hour late). Lights, sounds, echoes, a laser or two and I suddenly realized my heart was POUNDING. Oh my god, he was coming, and he would be but a mere 500-700metre away were my eyes were fixated.
Cue two hours of embarrassingly girlish sequels and the re-vertigo dizziness of becoming my pre teen self. He was amazing, and all I could keep thinking wasn’t real. I watched girls in the pit reach their hands out desperately-just to touch him.
Why do we do this? Why do we go so crazy just to tactilely interact with celebrities? I have a theory of sorts. We spend so much time engaging with versions of them in print, on screen and on the web. We know everything about their constructed life and no way of telling if its real. We’re asked to care about their romantic pursuits and their hem lines qualify as news stories between world politics and weather. We touch just to see if their real and we squeal to hope that they may just hear our voice once, when we hear there’s all too often.
Do you think its healthy we’re made to care so much about celebrity culture that we can hardly believe they’re real?