Kitschy unboxing videos, sunset selfies, TikTok dances: what would the man in the blonde wig make of the world he created, asks Nicole Flattery
In every argument, debate or article about the rise of the modern celebrity, one name always reappears: Andy Warhol. Do you know who first documented the minutiae of their life? Andy Warhol. Do you know who coined the phrase “In the future everyone will be famous for 15 minutes”? Andy Warhol. How did it happen? He made it happen. Warhol, the original narcissist; Warhol, the genius; Warhol, the void. He is responsible for the TikTok dancers, the Instagram models hogging the infinity pools, the needy comedians, the intense desire for recognition we are confronted with daily. It’s an awful lot for one notoriously frail man to carry.
I think the main reason why Warhol is blamed for our disposable celebrity culture is because of the superstars. The superstars were Warhol’s set, plucked from relative obscurity to star in his films, circle him and make him interesting, because Warhol’s only real god was work. Some of the superstars were talented; some were not. Some were beautiful; some were bizarre, and that was even better. Some were forgettable but some – and this is crucial – had something special. Charisma, charm, electricity, a presence that defied description. I have my own favourites: Ondine, Candy Darling, Edie Sedgwick. Sedgwick, an actor and model, has, like so many cultural icons, been reduced to parts: a fur coat, a leotard, heavy earrings. This still happens with celebrites. As I write, pictures from the set of the new Amy Winehouse film are circulating. Everything is where it’s supposed to be, how we remember it, but uncanny, unreal. A beehive, a pair of ballet slippers, a once living person made into a costume.
