I’m friends with The Celebrity and everyone is jealous

Tales of my good fortune! (Originally published to Substack February 19, 2026)

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Everyone wants to be friends with The Celebrity. When The Celebrity walks into the room, you know. Ears perk up, heads turn, and the room erupts in salutations. They’re here! It’s never promised that they’ll show (they could be anywhere else in the world), but they tell you that there’s no where else they’d rather be. That this is the most important thing to them right now. The Celebrity is charming and kind and gregarious and a little debaucherous, which you’ll find out if you stick around for even just a few minutes, and we love it. Any sane person hopes to catch a ride on The Celebrity’s coattails. To be able to be in the middle of the action, but not have the white hot spotlight on you. To be improved by your proximity to their aura. Everyone wants to be you; Celebrity adjacent. You’re so lucky! The Celebrity is so cool, I’m so jealous. The Celebrity saved my life. I wish I knew someone like that. To be chosen by The Celebrity is an honor.

The Celebrity takes up too much space but never apologizes. They’re larger than life, but somehow… relatable? They are afforded more space and greedy with how they use it, but it’s okay. That’s freedom. You wish you could do what they do. You really do. In the presence of someone like that, it’s permission to be more. To drink a little more and laugh a little louder. People tell the jokes you aren’t always supposed to in polite society and everybody laughs. The Celebrity laughs. Some apologize for how small they are by groveling, by overcompensating, by emulating The Celebrity, but you can’t copy someone who’s one of one. They’re generous with their offers, their resources, and their time. There’s always time for another story or another drink. As long as there’s a willingness to imbibe, there’s a time to be had with The Celebrity around!

In a lull, they announce they’re going outside for a smoke. You may have started vaping because it’s cool (and now you have a certified nicotine addiction), but they’ve been smoking cigs since before you were born. Few are brave enough— or lucky enough— to have a private audience with The Celebrity. It’s a quiet few minutes of their time that is otherwise inaccessible. A few minutes while the smoke billows to get a peak under the hood. You know what the others say about them. What they’ve accomplished. What they’ve gone through. The life they’ve built. The Celebrity has seen their fair share of the world, more than most people are afforded, but they’re so down to earth. The crowd hoots and hollers at the stories they have to tell, but here, with you, they’re different. They’ve struggled. They’ve worked their ass off. They were not given opportunities, they worked to make them and to be worthy of them. They even squandered a few along the way. The Celebrity is human too. They’re just like you.

What about before fame? The lines that were cut from the origin story; The things even more perverse than a dead parent or a struggle with mental health or alcoholism; The stuff they didn’t overcome; The stuff they probably won’t overcome. This is stuff real friends haven’t been told, but we’ve seen. The celebrity has seen a lot and conquered a lot, but when the ball stops rolling, well… you don’t let the ball stop rolling. I wish I could tell you what I want to tell you. You have nothing to be jealous of. I wish I was cruel enough to ruin it for you, but I don’t think I could. I think you’d see me as ungrateful, because if you had The Celebrity you’d want for nothing.

When you return to the party, their magic has been bestowed upon you. People clamor to you. On the inside you feel that magic vibrating. The future you’re now promised, the pathway to the rest of your life, it’s lined with their good fortune. You’ve been chosen. You’ve been blessed.

When The Celebrity departs, the party doesn’t forget about them, but I try to forget about them. I fall onto my hands and knees and search for myself. I left them at home. Tossed over the couch or maybe under the doormat. Hopefully they’re still there when I get back. These things tend to go late.