Musings of a 30th something

As I came home this evening, I noticed the number of people reading Heat/ Now/ New/ Someothergossip amagzine with a one word name.... most of these seemed to have whatsherface who won 'celebrity big brother' ( i use the word celebrity loosely).. and that made me wonder... what would it be like to be a micro-celebrity. Not a real celebrity, not one who has actually achieved something to justify their fame. Talent is a mug's game; too much like hard work.I'd want the kind of amoeba-level fame that makes normal people like me, choke on their weetabix or feel obliged to spend £1 on the latest magazine, just to marvel at my airbrushed uselessness.

Close your eyes and imagine the adoring fans The glamour! The wind gently caressing my 'just out of bed actually this took 8 hrs' hair and my Dior/ Prada/Roland Mouret dress as I strut in front of paparazzi all wondering who I am (as if I know myself). I'd also love all the whingeing - moaning about being 'hounded' by the same papers I'd sold stories to the day before, the deep, insightful quotes that show the 'real me' ('The thing about fame is you can't switch it on... I mean, off!') And then, when my time was up, I'd take my rightful place in the growing herd of micro-celeb Norma Desmonds, who will one day turn their cracked, ageing faces to the cameras and growl: 'I'm ready for my kiss-and-tell, Mr Max Clifford.' or try my hand at resurrecting my career via the latest celebrity ballroom housecleaning on ice programme.

Actually, I'm not sure I'd cut it as a micro-celeb. Not only am I a bit past it, I probably couldn't afford it - as micro-celeb of the moment Paris lookalike ( I still can;t rememeber her name, the name Charmin comes to mind, but I am sure that is a brand of toilet paper... oops) could tell you, hair extensions, even the tatty ones that aren't torn from the heads of starving Russians, cost an absolute bomb these days. Then there's the wardrobe dilemma - my look currently leans towards 'whatever I can find thats clean', which is fine when said fast in an exotic accent, but might not be so good on the red carpet when the bulbs start flashing and a stray spark turns me into a human fireball. Call me pessimistic, but I can't see my revolutionary exercise-from-the-comfort-of-your-sofa ( i did buy a book on yoga!)/Champers and fat chips detox programme taking off. Not immediately anyway - though there could be mileage in a video....
And what of the emotional cost - the dreadful mental quandary of when to sleep with Callum Best/Dennis Rodman/Jude Law, and in which nightclub corridor?

That's the downside of micro-celebrity - it's hard work and you don't know how micro it will end up. Goddesses like Charmin are all right with that - they have nerves of steel and the angels (of pure dumb luck) on their side. The rest of us, like the weedy chap from the band who likes Charmin, must take our chances in the postmodern primordial swamp of 'instant fame'.

As an aside, a good friend in Dubai recently told me of 'a celebrity experience' party he went to. This included red carpets (for one to glide down), harassment by pretend paparazzi, mobs of fake screaming 'fans' ( aka rent a crowd), and, one presumes plenty of champagne, fake hair and fake tan once indoors.

Admittedly, there is something essentially tragic about people literally buying their 15 minutes of fame, but is there really that much difference between them and Paris Hilton, who would doubtless be nowhere without the hard fact of her heiress millions (though to be fair, she did make what I hear was a very unusual and exuberant form of exercise video with a boyfriend - bet that would sell at WH Smith!)

So- if you could be a celebrity.. who would you be and why!