Every four years, something strange seems to overtake our country. In the months leading up to November, those who had previously exhibited relative apathy are suddenly wildly opinionated, as if they had been storing up all of their hidden political zeal for years and are relieved that it can finally be made known. Come November, everyone is an amateur political analyst, not to mention a goldmine of illuminating economic insight. Sometime after January of the following year, there is a collective sigh as everyone can finally go back to watching cat videos and reading Perez Hilton.
Except this predictable cycle has been upset by the bizarre melding of these two worlds — the world of vapid celebrity and the real-world heaviness of the political realm. Take, for instance, the recent coverage of the Republican National Convention. Once I had skimmed the pertinent information (mostly Clint Eastwood’s bizarre Invisible Obama skit), watched a few clips from the heavy-hitting news programs (mostly “The Daily Show”) and felt I had put enough time and energy into pretending to care (tweeting one of the above), I could go back to wasting time on the Internet. So, I went to Perez Hilton, and found exactly what I was looking for: some hot guy with impressive biceps delivering a spectacularly boring speech about the future of our country.
Imagine my surprise when I discovered that said Hot Guy is in fact Paul Ryan, Romney’s running mate in the November election. Initially, I was a bit disappointed that something of national importance had managed to leak onto a gossip website, however, I was soon comforted by the fact that Perez’s invaluable commentary allowed me to ignore anything substantive and relevant that may have been covered: “One thing is for sure, this was by faaaar the sexiest part of the convention!” Well said, Perez. Well said.
Despite being the Republican Presidential nominee and quite possibly the future President of the United States, Mitt Romney simply doesn’t have the body of Ryan Gosling and the dreamy blue eyes of a young Frank Sinatra.
I guess I can’t help but feel that this fusion of celebrity culture and politics has gotten out of hand. The way that we as a culture experience politics changed the moment the first televised presidential debate aired in 1960, and those changes have only continued to escalate. What was once considered petty has become integral to the perceived ethos of a candidate — looks, charisma and youth are preferred.
Furthermore, we’ve come to reduce matters of gravity, those that carry heavy ramifications for our country, to the degree of flippancy with which we treat matters of trivial insignificance. That is, by sticking them on gossip pages and chattering about biceps and abs.
