Fame is an interesting thing. Being “internet famous” is even more weird. Stories like Phil Fish scare the shit out of me. Literally. A large dose of anxiety is attacking me as I type these very words.
I used to be somewhat “subculturally important” at one point in my life. I am no longer important in that particular context or culture; I am no longer “famous” or on the fringe of being “famous”.
In fact, the people that used to care about my opinion in that subculture no longer care – they’ve entirely moved on.
How do I know that? The calls have stopped, the emails have ceased, the invitations to events no longer find their way into my hands. I am not upset about this – on the contrary, I’m very happy to have less that might require my attention and decision making.
What is disappointing, though, is that I had unrightly and ignorantly believed that some of those people were my friends, that they were people that cared about me and not just what I could bring to the table (and their wallets).
I suppose I only have myself to blame. I have no right to be disappointed in them, no platform that warrants a response or retort. The only person I can look at straight is the person staring right back in the mirror. I should have known.
These people no longer subscribe to this blog (that’s fine) and they no longer follow me on Twitter (that’s a good thing). And it’s because I no longer fit in a way that was explicitly beneficial to that subculture. Thus, I was no longer important.
In essence, I became irrelevant, decontextualized, and lacked obvious utility. And, if I’m to be fair, I kind of got boring. Fame was no longer a title that I could hold without complete deceit.