and finally... Celebrity is a serious business for us


We need each other, says Chris Proctor


W


hen my daughter Katy was teaching in south London, she asked her class what they wanted to do when they finished school. A few opted for jobs you’d expect – train driving, drug


trafficking, journalism – but a narrow majority wanted to be ‘celebrities’. “For what?” Katy asked, causing lifted eyebrows. “Money and fame, innit?” “But what do you want to be a celebrity for doing?” They didn’t want to be a celebrity for doing


anything. Not writing books, saving whales or singing songs. They just wanted to be a celebrity – as if it were a job. Good on you, kids! All power to their publicists, I


say. Celebrities are very good for business. We journalists are their lifeblood. Without our reporting on their glamorous lifestyles – getting engaged to each other, falling out of taxis wearing short skirts, booking into Priories, eating insects in jungles – they would cease to exist. They need us and anyone who needs us is to be tended and nurtured. Celebrities create all manner of work. The most


difficult is reporting what they do, because usually they don’t, apart from have their armpits shaved. But there’s always work writing about them in two selected categories. We can be puffers or slappers. Puffers schmooze out sounds of praise, pretending it must be ‘awesome’ to be a presenter of a kettle-selling programme on a TV station that hasn’t even made it onto Freeview’s 70 channel list. Slappers come into play a day or so later, ying and


yang style. Their task is to swat down the previously puffed celebs, thus restoring balance and sanity. They point out violent tendencies, foul mouths, stupid views, lurid pasts and varicose veins. Naturally, I applaud the contributions celebs make to expanding the range of jobs in our area. But, at the risk of biting the creamed and massaged hand that feeds, I often wonder why they do it? They must know they will be celebrated for 10 minutes and jeered at for the remainder of their lives as ‘that bloke who’s a footballer’s son who got kicked out of the Big Brother house on his way in’. We paid attention to them, now it’s payback time.


Your average celeb is popular for the length of time


it takes to prepare a Cup-a-Soup. They have their five minutes in the flashbulb then, like Eva Carneiro, Keri Hulme, loon pants and man-sized tissues, we’ve done with them. And what about the huge mass of semi-royal celebs


whose members nose their way into the pubic eye for a publicly funded connubial jamboree? Quite apart from the fact that they’re obliged to have Sulky Spice at their nuptials (which you really wouldn’t want in a smiley-pic scenario), the moment the flags stop waving, the bile starts piling. I almost feel sorry for them. The instant journalist A has dissected the wedding dress, journalist B starts asking who paid for it. Then there’s: ‘How much did security cost?’, ‘What was that bloke from Westlife doing in the front pew?’, ‘Isn’t Eugenie a Brexit name?’ And the football-inspired chant of: ‘Who are you?’ Is it worth it for two weeks on the front page? It might be fun for a day or so, but fame comes back to bite you. Look at poor old Scarlett


Moffatt. To her credit, this rather misleadingly titled ‘personality’ provided our snapper members with temporary income opportunities but, as soon as she was out of the limelight, she was into the dock. Ms Moffatt, not to be confused with the arachnophobe Muffet, is being sued by the company who paid her to make a weight-loss video. Why? Because she put the pounds back on too soon afterwards for their liking. It’s hardly her fault. She would naturally have assumed she’d be back to anonymity after lunch. Actually, I only mention Ms M because of a headline I saw in OK! magazine that read, ‘Scarlett Moffatt flaunts long legs as she jets off to Australia.’ It’s not like she has a selection of differently sized legs to flaunt, is it? And how else is she supposed to get to the Antipodes? Bike? Yes, being a celeb, although not involving heavy lifting, remains dirty work. We should be grateful to those prepared to give up their time in this way. They keep many a wolf away from the doors of our puffers, slappers and snappers. I apologise unreservedly for my daughter’s incompetence in the area of career advice.


26 | theJournalist


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