You’ve probably heard that the famous person has died. Which one? Doesn’t matter. Seems to be happening a lot lately. Maybe it’s the internationally famous actor? Or the music legend? Or the household comedy name? Or the other one? Or maybe the magician? Or the wrestler?
Whichever one you’re thinking about right now, you’re no doubt pretty sad about them passing away. They probably meant a lot to you, maybe they were a big part of your childhood and their work has had a lasting impression on you? Or maybe you discovered them more recently and have been devouring their back catalogue, so they’ve been a big part of your world recently? Perhaps you’ve never been a die-hard fan but their constant presence in popular culture has resulted in them providing a comfortably familiar aspect of life in a complex and ever-changing world? It could be any of these things, all of these things, or some other factor altogether.
Whatever the reason, you’re sad about the beloved person dying, and, like countless others, have undoubtedly said so publicly via social media, praising the recently deceased and describing the positive ways they impacted on your life.
Well, here’s the thing. You are WRONG! That actor, whoever they were, wasn’t that good at acting. He or she did at least 3 sub-par films, and a dodgy accent in a TV advert when they were just starting out.
And that that musician you love? They were actually run-of-the-mill. Their epic guitar solos were nothing to write home about, they fall according to a completely arbitrary and unspecific assessment of quality I’m not going to tell you about and have never mentioned before now. And their trailblazing generation-defining persona and performances were just cynical and obvious marketing schticks. Anyone could do what they do, especially me, I just choose not to, for reasons I’m keeping to myself.
And as for that comedian, don’t make me laugh. They certainly didn’t. Some people say humour is subjective, and usually it is, except when it comes to my own, which is a universal absolute, like gravity or light speed. This “so-called comedian” may have been able to fool the idiotic masses with their ill-mannered capering, but they had nothing on the classic, ground-breaking comedy geniuses we had in my day.
This is assuming they’re not one of those older comedians, of course. If they were, they were a relic of a backward, primitive era, long surpassed by smarter, modern performers and should have had the good grace to quit long ago, not embarrasses us all with their obsolete foolishness.
Look, whichever type of comedian they were, that’s the wrong type, so they’re rubbish, and shouldn’t be celebrated like how you’re doing.
What makes me say all this? Given that grief is such a complex process (especially when it’s for a public figure, and is becoming even more so in our increasingly interconnected world), what gives me the right to dictate to people how they should react to the loss of an icon?
The answer is simple: I’m me. You’re not me. And therefore, if we disagree about something, I’m right. Because I’m me. Clear?
Thing is, I’m a pundit. I have, for whatever reason, got my own media platform, and that means my opinion is worth more than anyone else’s. Don’t ask “why?”, it just does. If it’s written down it must be true, and I just wrote it in the last sentence, so therefore it’s true. See how this works? Even if you don’t, it doesn’t matter. I have a platform, and it’s bigger than yours, so obviously I’m right, otherwise I wouldn’t have it would I? Stands to reason.
As a pundit, I need you, the public, to pay attention to me. And if you’re paying attention to a deceased celebrity, you’re not paying attention to me, and I need to change this situation. I could achieve this by writing or performing original works to the very best of my ability and hope they’re good enough to draw the attention they deserve, and thus earning me money.
STOP RUINING MY POINT WITH YOUR KNOWLEDGE! Photograph: Tony McGee
That’s hard work though. It’s usually a lot easier, given that people have a tendency to be easily outraged, to say something deliberately contradictory, to upset them. I can then sit back and watch the precious web traffic.
This tactic works especially well when it comes to a beloved celebrity passing away. People are already upset and unified by common appreciation for the deceased, so saying something disparaging about them is a sure-fire way to get the publicity I crave. It doesn’t matter how many people it upsets, as long as I benefit. It’s like puncturing the bouncy castle at a busy children’s party so I can use the rubber to choke the cats crapping in my garden.
So that’s why I’m right and you’re wrong. It’s not that I’m just trying to stand out from the crowd by criticising something everyone likes. It’s not that, when faced with someone who’s clearly more talented, successful and beloved than I’ll ever be, I feel incredibly threatened by this, so criticise them unjustifiably so I can feel superior. It’s not that I’ve internalised my own sense of failure and inadequacy to such an extent that I’ve experienced complete cognitive dissonance and perceive the constant anger and insults I provoke as a sign of success, even affection.
No, it’s because I’m a pundit. And I’m right, no matter what it is I’m talking about. People need to stop being so sensitive and accept this.
Dean Burnett doesn’t agree with any of the views stated here but has seen plenty who seem to think otherwise. @garwboy.
The Idiot Brain by Dean Burnett (Guardian Faber, £12.99). To order a copy for £7.99, go to bookshop.theguardian.com or call 0330 333 6846. Free UK p&p over £10, online orders only. Phone orders min. p&p of £1.99.
