Freed From Behind The Paywall: I was a ( D List) Celebrity and I Got Out of There
Even a tiny bit of fame can be toxic.
I was recently tempted by my daughters into watching an episode of ‘I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here’ and was astonished at how readily people will utterly degrade themselves in order to keep themselves in the public eye.
Actually not that astonished, since I’ve sort of been there.
I have never been famous, but there was a time when it was not unheard of for me to be stopped and asked for my autograph. People on the street also held my gaze for longer than was normal - they were trying to work out how they knew me.
They ‘knew’ me because I was regularly on television, in this case ‘Newsnight Review’ a critical arts programe that was broadcast every Friday on the BBC. I also was in receipt for a lot of publicity around my books - since they were deemed to be successful - and my picture often appeared in newspapers. Also, every Wednesday I had a picture byline in the London Evening Standard for a column that I wrote.
Was I ‘celebrity’? Not really ( although I was interviewed about appearing on a TV ‘celebrity’ reality show which, thank god, never happened). But sometimes I no longer felt completely anonymous in a crowd - especially, say, when I was attending a theatre performance preparing for a subsequent TV review. People stared at me as if I were an enigma to be solved. Meanwhile, I spent a fair time in TV ‘Green Rooms’ with people who genuinely were famous, thus giving myself the illusion of being part of a charmed circle.
I think it all began when I won the Whitbread First Novel Prize in 1999. In those days, book publishing was much more sexy for broadcasters, and the prize ceremony was broadcast live on Channel Four. As I arrived for the event in my rented dinner jacket, along with the other nominees ( Seamus Heaney, Jacqueline Wilson and Rose Tremain - the other nominee, JK Rowling was not available to appear), the cameras flashed and the crowd buzzed. A panel, including Ian Hislop and two other people famous at the time ( can’t remember who they were now) commentated as the ceremony progressed. Seamus Heaney won of course, but I had been on the same stage as this legend.
Was this a pleasant experience? Absolutely. Having spent most of my life being a complete nobody, being the centre of attention was a big rush of adrenaline. I loved appearing on live TV and showing off for a couple of million people. What wasn’t to like?
Quite a lot actually. I think at some level, I started to think I was ‘special’ in some way. I became, in short, a bit of a big head. And a nob head. As John Updike once observed ‘fame is a mask that eats into the face’. I was hardly famous, so I still came out of my low-level celebrity with my face intact. But there were real downsides.
What immediately became apparent is how addictive fame , however low grade, is. As Newsnight Review finished its run, and I became less and less well-known, I started to crave exposure in the media - however crass. I had tasted the crack cocaine of attention and I wanted more.
It’s hard to quantify, but what I do know is, that the feeling I had was ugly. And in the end I got my just deserts. For one reason or another - I blame it on my worsening ADHD - I made a few disastrous media appearances, in which, on several occasions, I lost control of my emotions and started ranting semi-incoherently. I can hardly bear to remember them, but I think after they happened, my TV and radio invitations dried up.
Not long after, I was genuinely obscure again. How did it feel? Disappointing, but a sort of relief. I no longer felt the need to sell myself as a fascinating, or even coherent, person in front of a camera or a microphone. My ego shrank - always a good thing. I stopped becoming furious when Author B or C were selected instead of author A ( me!) to appear on an arts programme or to comment on some topical development or other.
Now no one ever gives me a second glance, let alone asks me for my autograph, and the media requests stand at precisely zero. And I am perfectly happy that way. I’ve learned what being well-known could mean.
I actually think to be properly famous - pop star famous - would be absolutely awful, not only in terms of idiots asking you for selfies all the time, but in terms of self-love and self-hatred, two sides of the same coin.
I enjoy attention - nearly everybody does - but just a little bit to sprinkle on my life is enough. Like certain kinds of medicine, a small dose is beneficial but a large dose can make you very sick.
Thanks for this. All the young people I know think it would be fantastic to be Taylor Swift or Harry Styles, the older folk know better.
But what I really want to know is the juicy gossip about Newsnight Review! Does Mark Lawson smell? (I guess so, he’s got a nose after all) Did Allison Pearson always lick her fingers before turning the page?