Confessions of a Culture Writer With Celebrity Face Blindness

There’s a scene from ABC’s Abbott Elementary that haunts me. Beloved Boomer-aged grade-school teacher Ms. Howard mixes up two celebrities while debating who should be the next Spiderman. “Well if they do go with a Black actor,” she says, “I hope they go with that Mr. Brian Austin Green.” Everyone pauses. Looks are exchanged. She means Brian Tyree Henry.

The first time I watched this episode, a friend of mine howled at her mistake — Brian Austin Green is white — I laughed along. But in truth, I felt struck with fear.

Because I have a confession to make: Like Ms. Howard, I am also deeply confused about who’s who. This is all fine and even expected for the Ms. Howards of the world. Boomers like her aren’t supposed to know anyone’s name. It’s part of their charm. But as a twenty-five-year-old culture writer, it is my explicit duty to know these things, or rather, these people. When my editor asks me to write about Liam Gallagher’s new tour, I’m expected to know who that is and have an opinion about it. When my friends get a notification about Paul Mescal's latest film, I’m the person they text for more information. The expectation is not that I am furiously typing “paul mescal who” into Google.

Take a peek inside my brain, won’t you? You know Topher Grace? To you, he’s probably that guy from That 70s Show or maybe even the recently-canceled sitcom Home Economics. To me, he is that, yes, but he’s also Spiderman. Not because he’s ever played Spiderman, but because he was once in Spiderman-3, which he starred in alongside his doppelganger, Tobey McGuire, who actually is Spiderman. It’s worse than that. Show me a picture of the two and I won’t be able to tell them apart. I’m not one to strip anyone of their individuality, but they might as well be called Tophey.

Or, take my relationship with Al Pacino and Robert DeNiro. I’m not the only one who has confused the two, but I’d guess I’m the only one who has confused a young DeNiro with Grey's Anatomy Star, Patrick Dempsey. I’d say my issue is simply with names — Dempsey and DeNiro both start with a D and Tobey and Topher are weirdly similar — but honestly, this isn’t it either. Just last week I thought Martin Scorsese was Pacino, when he appeared, briefly, in Killers of the Flower Moon. As for Mr. Godfather and Mr. Goodfellas, well, they look the same! Prove me wrong. Even if you could, my list goes on. There’s Regina King, who I love, theoretically, but couldn’t possibly identify. Or Mark Ruffalo, who is also Andrew Scott. Plus, Martin Short and Steve Martin who are entirely interchangeable, and Jennifer Garner who could be Hilary Swank.

Now, before you call my boss, let me clarify. I do know some celebrities. I even have favorites, but I will never know them all. How could I? Vice took on the delightfully arduous task of counting the world’s famous people and came back with: at least 28,000. That is a staggering number of famous people. How could they possibly all be famous? How could I possibly know them all even if they really were? I have a hard enough time keeping up with the “creatives” of my generation on TikTok, add in so-called Hollywood legends, not to mention the dead ones, and it’s game over.

But is that so bad? In a world where pop culture knowledge is social currency, it’s easy to become engrossed in the lives of celebrities. Still, I wonder: has our curiosity grown too strong? Should we really know who Taylor Swift is dating, what team he plays for, and why her fans think they’re compatible? Perhaps, memorizing Harry Styles' zodiac sign (it’s Aquarius, btw) means we’ve strayed from the light. I’m not immune to the intrigue (I mean, I know Harry Styles’ birth chart), but honestly, couldn’t we, me included, stand to know less about each other?

Perhaps out of defensiveness, I felt compelled to investigate my celebrity blindness. Could it be prosopagnosia, a neurological condition that makes it impossible to recognize faces? No, that wouldn’t make sense. I do know some people, after all. Maybe my inability to recognize celebrities is just a mental robustness that others lack.

Aha! Indeed, according to Psych Central, we’re all at risk of “Celebrity Worship Syndrome,”— a disorder they claim occurs when the admiration of a celebrity shifts into obsessive fascination and preoccupation. That diagnosis sounded both dubious and intriguing to me, so I asked a few experts for their take. Perhaps my habit of forgetting celebrities is more than just a quirk. Maybe it’s the only thing standing between me and a life of mental torment.

David Giles, a psychology professor at the University of Windsor, said, basically, no. He assured me that “Celebrity Worship Syndrome” has no clinical basis, and said, “It’s just a term bandied around by the media,”—that would be me. As for Psych Central's frenzied claims of “obsessive fascination,” well, that may be better understood as parasocial relationships—otherwise known as one-sided relationships, often with famous figures, who have no idea we exist. Even then, the “obsessive” aspect, per Giles’ understanding, is unlikely in the average person.

Dr. Gayle Stever, a psychology professor at The State University of New York, had a similar take. “Obsession,” she said, “has a clinical meaning, which relates to mental illness.” In Stever’s extensive research on fandoms (which began in the ‘80s), she rarely encountered anyone who fit the bill. Even while studying fans of Michael Jackson, Paul McCartney, Bruce Springsteen, Madonna, Prince, George Michael, and Star Trek–that’s to say, the ones most famous for their ravenous fanbases–she found that they were relatively chill.

Then again, that was all pre-internet.

We might not be at risk of complete societal downfall, but still, my gut tells me something’s …off. Surely, camping out at Jack Antonoff’s wedding can’t be right. Right? And sending celebrities death threats—think of the many “fans” who’ve attacked Justin Bieber’s wife, Hailey Bieber—is undeniably absurd. Yet, both happened.

The road from disinterested civilian to Deuxmoi informant is long but well-traveled. People make the trek every day, and things take an unsettling turn when fascination turns sour. That doesn’t mean they’ve come down with “Worship Syndrome,” but you know what the first step is, for sure? Knowing these people’s names.

Lest we forget, there was once a time when connectivity wasn’t a given. Not long ago I had to wait for the internet to load in order to research my favorite Disney Channel stars. Half the time, my intrigue subsided before the page was completely rendered. And the news I was so desperate to learn? It wasn’t that important.

This is a state of affairs to which we could easily return. All it takes is being willing to not worry if you don’t know who someone is. That’s it! Topher Maguire? I’m sure he’s great. Same with Jennifer Swank. But when I lay my head on my pillow at night, I don’t think about them at all. I’m not suggesting we abolish the internet or pretend interesting people are boring. But we do have a choice in how we engage. So dare to be different. Log out of an app. Put down the tabloid. Forget the name of the guy from the thing. Say Brian Austin Green when you mean Brian Tyree Henry.

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