My friend, Lori (Alphie from the Twilight Lexicon), has met many of the actors in the Twilight films, and if she stays in the business of fansites, will most likely meet more. She always maintains her professionalism and her calm - this is why she's still in the business of fansites. (Although I'm going to bust her publicly and share that I have received the occasional OMG text upon her introduction to certain people. I enjoy those texts. Living vicariously and all that.) Earlier this fall, Lori and my friend April were giving me grief about how they thought I would react if I ever met anyone famous. I believe wetting of the pants, hyperventilation and unconsciousness were mentioned - all three of which I freely admit would be a possibility - but I drew the line at screaming.
"You would!" April argued. "You would so scream. Hell, I'd scream."
But I won't. Here's why.
Famous people are still people. People contain souls and hearts and fears and stories and worth, regardless of financial status or their rank on any "important" list published by People or Forbes or the New York Times.
When you see Hugh Jackman at a movie premiere (and if you do, I'm jealous) and you scream at how incredibly hot he looks in his tux, you aren't honoring his person. You're openly lusting after his ass ... ets. You've just demoted him from a human who's exceptionally skilled in his chosen vocation to a piece o' meat. It's a different story if you scream and applaud as he presents an award or in appreciation for his performance of a rousing Oscar musical number.
I think what bothers me most is that it always seems to be the female population screaming at the male population. Hoots, hollers, catcalls, whistles, requests for signatures on panties ... stereotypically done by women to men in public venues. Objectification in its' truest form.
Teeming masses of males don't chase Megan Fox down the street holding out their unders and a Sharpie with tears cascading down their cheeks. They don't boast pictures of Kristen Stewart as Bella on their t-shirts, waving homemade posters asking her to bite them or offering to have her babies. Why? Because their friends would make fun of them for one thing - but mostly because the feminist population would plotz. (I'm also pretty sure she'd cuss them into the ground. Girlfriend has a mouth. I'll admit it. I kinda like it.)
Consider the classic question: If you could invite five people to dinner, who would they be and why? When they sat down at your table, would you scream at them? Or would you get to know them, share a chuckle, shower them with compliments? You might discuss great literature. Beg for juicy gossip. Request the details on the brand of hair gel they use.
You. would. not. scream.
I'm totally aware I'm going to get the response of "goes with the territory, they signed up for it, blah blah whatever." I understand. I'm just telling you why I'm not screaming, not why you shouldn't. Besides, I've got my own issues.
Should an opportunity to meet a famous person ever present itself, I have to remember to pack diapers, paper bags and smelling salts.