(Originally published April 1, 2015)
Fame is the lowest byproduct of greatness. If it’s not, explain Superman.
In one of Norm MacDonald’s many interviews available on YouTube – too many good ones to count, too many to sift through for the exact quote – he suddenly starts riffing on Superman: Why did he need a secret identity, anyway? He’s Superman, but he spends most of his time as Clark Kent, taking shit from people at the Daily Planet?
Why? Fame.
Fame is so ugly, the B-story in our modern myth about the most exceptional being on earth is him spending the majority of his waking hours as a newspaper copy boy, pretending not to have superpowers in order to blend in. Otherwise no one would ever leave him alone – ever – and he’d have to retreat to the Fortress of Solitude full-time.
Superman is no longer a “modern” myth. He was invented after Prometheus but before Andy Warhol and People Magazine and Bravo and E! and TMZ. It’s hard for people now to see themselves needing a Clark Kent.
Why wouldn’t you want to be famous? Isn’t being famous what makes you great?
* * *
The best would-you-rather question that doesn’t involve sex or death is this:
“If you could have a superpower, would you rather be able to fly or be invisible?”
The question is meant to answer if you’re an introvert or an extrovert, or, bluntly, “Are you a pervert?” Not that you couldn’t find a way to use invisibility for good, but the assumption is always that the decision involves the changing rooms at Victoria’s Secret. However, you might choose invisibility because the question is either/or, and you don’t want to get stuck with flight; stuck, because unless you only use it to hover around the house, flight equals instant and irreversible fame. Of all the powers in Superman’s arsenal - of which there are truly too many - it’s first one you see, right out of the phone booth.
It's assumed, if you were an introvert, you’d pick invisibility. If you were an extrovert, you’d pick flight, then live with displaying or discussing your superpower to every passerby, endlessly, finally retreating to Solitude or, worse, the newspaper business. Then you'd beg for the chance to pick again.
* * *
You might not see the same dilemma. The curse, as I'm describing it, seems like just one more blessing.
Again, why wouldn’t you want to be famous?
But in comic books, like life, you don't get a superpower without a sense of duty. The conflict is that by using your powers publicly, successfully, the waves of adoration you receive stifle you from using your powers again. That’s why they invented masks and secret identities and hideouts; with great power comes great responsibility to handle unwanted attention.
* * *
Note:
Superman and superheroes may stand for artists whose talents – or “superpowers” – make them famous against their wishes. I'm fascinated by fans of celebrities who meet them in person and find their gushing unreciprocated, then go online to lash out publicly:
“They wouldn’t be anything without their fans! How can they act so ungrateful?"
These fans imagine they'd handle it better, because they themselves would love to be famous. They sustain that fantasy by never achieving fame. Reality: most people who develop "superpowers" are more comfortable in private than public. They find attention suffocating. If they get "lucky" and earn fame for their efforts, they can look forward to feeling the walls closing in every time they go outside.
* * *
In a society where fame is considered the truest validation of success, artists are given the choice to hide their abilities or achieve a success they didn't want in the first place. The questionnaire looks like this:
Would you like to have a superpower?
[ YES / NO ]
If you circled “yes,” would you rather be able to fly or be invisible?
[ BE ABLE TO FLY / BE INVISIBLE ]
If you circled, “be able to fly,” congratulations, you’re invisible.
If you circled, “be invisible,” congratulations, you’re able to fly.