Billie Eilish and the problem of being desired
I often fantasize about being famous. I imagine myself being on a talk-show and spouting off my random thoughts, with an entire audience hanging on my every word. I think it’s safe to say that more people have this fantasy, since we often idolize and look up to the celebrities that have achieved this fame. When celebrities speak of the often terrifying invasions of privacy they suffer, they are always forced to admit that they are however greatly privileged and lucky to be famous, just to ward off the envy of their fans.
But should we really be so envious of celebrities? The basic definition of fame is that it is a state of being desired, having many people that want to be like you, want to have you, or want to use you, or are otherwise interested in you. Being desired then triggers questions of: what do you want from me? What am I to you? What do you see in me? What if I’m not what you want me to be? Or, in the case of Billie Eilish, what was I made for? These are anxiety-provoking questions which threaten our sense of self: when we become an object of the other’s desire it threatens to cancel out our subjectivity.
Taking a drive, I was an ideal
Looked so alive, turns out I’m not real
Just something you paid for— Billie Eilish, “What was I made for?”
Us, non-famous people, often experience the other’s desire as lacking: our pain comes from being rejected by a lover, a parent, an art school. This is why fame is such a powerful fantasy for us. But what if this pain of not being loved enough is actually just a defense mechanism against the anxiety of being loved?
