Most of us, whether we admit it or not, are drawn to celebrities. For many, the pull goes beyond mere fascination—we long for a taste of celebrity ourselves. This yearning, as explored in Chapter 5, is rooted in our deeper desire for power and recognition. In the digital era, that longing is only magnified.

Just a generation ago, the road to fame was guarded by gatekeepers. Authors needed publishers, musicians relied on record labels, actors waited for the nod from producers, and publicists worked behind the scenes to manufacture stardom. But the arrival of social media changed everything. The barriers crumbled. Now, anyone with a smartphone and an internet connection can bypass the old gatekeepers and step into the spotlight.

Today’s teens idolize social media stars more than traditional celebrities from film, television, or music. The influencers who dominate YouTube, Instagram, and TikTok didn’t need the blessing of industry professionals—they built their followings from scratch, and young people are watching. The once-impossible task of gaining an audience is now within reach for anyone willing to try. As talent agent Jane Bulseco notes, “Social media is making fame more desirable than ever before for today’s generation. Social media platforms have democratized the talent discovery process… No longer do celebrities solely live on stages and movie screens, but they are born in their homes and are accessible to us in ours.”

For younger generations, fame has become a top priority. A Pew Research Center study found that fortune and fame are the leading goals for millennials. Another survey revealed that one in four millennials would quit their jobs to become famous, one in six would choose fame over having children, one in ten would skip college for fame, and a troubling one in twelve would even disown their family for a shot at the spotlight.

What makes fame, power, and respect so irresistible? One answer lies in our innate longing for connection. Fame offers a counterfeit version of friendship—a lopsided relationship where fans, posing as friends, are expected to celebrate our every move. Philosopher Alain de Botton describes the pursuit of celebrity as “the intimate desire to be liked and treated with justice and kindness by people (we) don’t know.” For some, especially those who’ve felt overlooked or neglected, the pull is even stronger. De Botton suggests, “No one would want to be famous who hadn’t also, somewhere in the past, been made to feel extremely insignificant.”

But there’s another powerful lure: immortality. Legends, by definition, are stories from the past that live on. Today’s celebrities chase what sociologists call “symbolic immortality”—the hope that their image and reputation will outlast their earthly lives. As one researcher put it, “Marilyn Monroe may have died on August 5, 1962, but her image is still very much alive today. Because the celebrities have ‘entered the language of the culture,’ they have the opportunity to create something that will outlive them.”

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Sociologists and researchers agree: acceptance and immortality are key motives behind the pursuit of celebrity. Yet, fame rarely delivers on either promise. True friendship requires honesty and familiarity—qualities fans and followers can never provide. As Katelyn Beaty observes, “…the very nature of celebrity, especially in a digital era, is that it hides its power behind the illusion of intimacy.” Friends care enough to correct us; fans simply applaud from afar. King Solomon put it best: “Better is open rebuke than hidden love; faithful are the wounds of a friend.” Fans haven’t earned the right to do what friends must.

“Symbolic immortality” is also a hollow substitute for real eternal life. Those who pin their hopes on a lasting public persona become prisoners of their own image, constantly curating and protecting the version of themselves they present to the world. As G. S. Bhogal warns, “This is the ultimate trapdoor in the hall of fame; to become a prisoner of one’s own persona. The desire for recognition in an increasingly atomized world lures us to be who strangers wish us to be.”

Even those of us who haven’t achieved celebrity status experience this on social media. We share only the best moments, carefully editing our lives to fit the persona we want others to see. The “us” that survives in digital memory is often a fiction, not the real person.

Fame not only fails to satisfy our hunger for acceptance and immortality—it also opens the door to more dangerous cravings. In my years investigating crimes, I’ve rarely met anyone who, in chasing power, didn’t also chase money or sex. Scratch one itch, and the others soon follow. As opportunities multiply with status, so do the risks. One celebrity confided, “I live in Hollywood and I’m a middle-aged man, and Miss September keeps throwing herself at me. That wouldn’t happen if I wasn’t famous. Believe me… The average guy turning down Miss September is a tough day. That would show intestinal fortitude that I don’t know that I have.”

Researchers have documented these hidden dangers, noting that “the lure of life’s temptations may be the most secret side of celebrity experience,” with some calling the perks of fame both a benefit and a risk. Notoriety promises what it cannot deliver, while exposing us to temptations we may not be prepared to resist. Along the way, celebrities report losing privacy, facing relentless expectations, and suffering mistrust and isolation.

Now that the gatekeepers are gone, everyone can chase celebrity—but the risks, and the emptiness, remain the same. To learn much more about the danger of celebrity and the cure that contributes to human flourishing and establishes the reliability of the Biblical record, please read The Truth in True Crime: What Investigating Death Teaches Us About the Meaning of Life.