Elisabeth Kwak-Hefferan: Instant fame for many who don't deserve it

Andy Warhol once told us that in the future, everyone would be world famous for 15 minutes.

He sure knew his stuff, that Warhol. People you would never expect to see on hit TV shows and magazine covers and gossip programs just a few years ago -- people like William Hung and Trista and Omarosa -- are now popping up all over those very things. But it's not that more and more people are developing talents or making noteworthy accomplishments or doing anything in particular to get their names into the national consciousness, oh no. We've just made it easy to become a celebrity.

It used to be that in order to become famous, you had to do something or be something -- something unique, special, out of the ordinary. You had to write a book or star in a movie or have an affair with the president in order for other people to recognize you. You didn't necessarily have to be good at what you did, or even do anything good: You could lip-synch to awful music or climb up in a clock tower and shoot at passers-by, for example, and you would still be household conversation.

In other words, celebrities, through their deeds, used to mean something. We made them represent more than themselves in exchange for their fame: We could point at them as role models or as warnings for our kids, but they were largely symbols not of who we were, but of what we could become.

These days, though, to gain celebrity status, all you have to be is obnoxious.

All right, there are still some serious celebs out there, but for every world champion figure skater or senator, there's a rising Hilton sister getting all sorts of attention for just being herself. For the most part, we've got reality television to blame. And once TV debuts a new face, the Entertainment Tonights and People magazines are sure to follow.

It started back in the first days of The Real World, when everyday people were plucked out of their humdrum lives and thrown together for us all to watch. The trend didn't really take off until a few years ago, though, when Survivor made the TV landscape safe for reality -- now, you can't surf two channels without running into a guy who's just like you, except he's on TV eating live cockroaches.

Yes, the most interesting thing about The Bachelor or Fear Factor or The Apprentice or any other reality show is not what happens every week when they air, but the way they've elevated normal people to celebrity status. No longer do you need actual talent or a fresh idea for millions of people to know your name -- you just have to be cute and willing to go on fantasy dates, or to sell lemonade on the street while a camera follows you around, or, hell, even to get a boob job in the hopes of looking more like Britney Spears.

Well, there is one quality that can make you more likely to find such instant fame: being a jackass. Casting directors for reality shows know that viewers like conflict, so they purposefully choose the most annoying, stubborn and mean people they can find, just to shake things up. It may make for more enthralling programming, but it's also flooding the ranks of the famous with unpleasant people. Really, should we be encouraging them?

Our acceptance of the reality TV trend is not only making more and more average (if obnoxious) people into celebrities -- it's also turning our very definition of fame on its head. It used to be that the famous deserved the attention they got: They were creating something new, or playing key roles in international politics, or hitting home runs. Even the infamous deserved their titles: They were committing atrocities, or betraying their countries, or even, like the notorious Al Capone, evading their taxes.

Point being, they were not just like us. They were symbolic and larger than life, and they let us imagine what we, too, could be. Call them inspirations, call them examples of what not to do or call them extraordinary. They stood out.

But now, people like you and me are allowed to be famous, too, and they're messing up the function of the celebrity. Alongside classical composers, we've got that chick who can sing a Whitney Houston song fairly well, and next to the modern villains, we have schemers who make little deals so they won't get voted off the island. Where's the inspiration in all of this? Where is the moral?

Pretty soon, fame won't mean anything at all. Hey, if anyone can be a star by doing nothing in particular, then where's the glamour, the verve, the value in celebrity?

Don't spend too long pondering, though -- your very own 15 minutes could start any second now. It can't hurt to prepare by eating a few bugs.

Elisabeth Kwak-Hefferan is a senior communications major from Wheaton, Ill. Six Feet One appears on Tuesdays.

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