Got Fame?

The Got Milk? ad campaign is undoubtedly one of the most widely known and admired concepts in print advertising history. Got Milk? models have included numerous actors, musicians, and athletes, a smattering of film directors and fashion models -- even Elvis impersonators. This campaign made gulping milk cool, and we can only hope that books and authors will someday receive such attention. Wouldn't Salman Rushdie be cute in a milk mustache?

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Thou Shall Be Famous

I danced with the sexiest man alive.

And afterwards, he gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He was a perfect gentleman. Oh, yes, and a good dancer. And quick-witted, kind, and sweet.

Did I leave something out?

Oh, that. Right. He's famous. Very famous. And he's not just the sexiest man alive, he's officially the sexiest man alive. As in People magazine's 2005 Sexiest Man Alive.

Matthew McConaughey.

He'd been on the magazine's cover and all over the media the previous week. Some stores still had that issue on the racks, and there he was on the Monday night after Thanksgiving quietly sitting at the bar of an Austin, Texas club where traditional honky-tonk country singer Dale Watson was performing.

McConaughey visits Austin ("The Live Music Capital of the World") quite often, and used to live here. Celebrities receive a warm, normal welcome here. Fans don't scream and stalk, and neither do photographers. It's a tabloid-free zone where musicians, actors, and other artists routinely mingle with regular folks, just like regular folks, and nobody makes a big deal out of it.

Here a famous person can take a break from the downside of fame, and, like McConaughey, just mosey into a friendly club, plunk himself down at the end of the bar, order a drink, and shmooze (okay, mosey and shmooze probably don't belong in the same sentence) with whomever happens to be sitting or standing nearby.

I was there at the club moseying and shmoozing myself because I moved to Austin two years ago, and I'm editing Dale Watson's memoir. Since moving here, I've somehow morphed from klutz to pretty darn good Two-Stepper and Swing dancer, and that night I danced the last dance -- a rousing rendition of Texas Boogie -- with Matthew McConaughey, the aforementioned Sexiest Man Alive.

Yeah, I know, my job is rough. The things we journalists, writers, and editors have to do. It's a hardship.

After the show things began to get surreal. As if finding yourself dancing with The Sexiest Man Alive wasn't surreal enough. Didn't he have more glamorous things to do while his face was on every newsstand than hang out in an everyone's-in-their-jeans, down-home little club in his fuzzy, sweatshirt-like pullover, with no entourage or pretensions, and dance with normal women like a regular guy?

Well, for some other Sexiest Man Alive, perhaps, but not McConaughey, whose charm has always been enhanced by the fact that he's never let fame keep him from living his life like a regular guy.

Anyway, after the show, I was at the back of the club talking with Dale and a couple of his friends and colleagues when Matthew McConaughey came over and introduced himself to Dale.

Dale stared at him, laughed, and announced that he'd just lost 40 bucks.

Matthew looked puzzled. We all did.

Dale explained that a friend had told him that Matthew McConaughey was in the club, but that he hadn't believed him because a McConaughey imposter had been frequenting Austin clubs for quite a while telling people that he was the famous actor. Women all over town had been falling for it.

Dale insisted to his friend that the guy in the club must be The Imposter, not the Real McConaughey. The two went 'round and 'round about this until they finally bet $40 on whether this guy was the real thing or not.

After Dale's show, when McConaughey walked over and introduced himself, it was instantly clear to Dale that he'd lost the bet, and Matthew was, indeed Matthew.

Everyone laughed, Dale was slightly embarrassed at having lost the bet, and Matthew took the whole look-alike matter all in stride.

If he, or any other famous person, ever sat down and made a list of the strange things brought by fame, this would probably be one of the tamer things on the list.

It's hard for an actor to have privacy, much less any degree of anonymity, when his job puts his face out there all the time.

An author, though, even a famous author, can manage to be relatively invisible.

Publishing is filled with lots of little ironies and inconsistencies, and this is one of them: Even though publishers insist that their authors be more visible than the noonday sun, some of the most famous authors on the planet could walk into your living room and you'd never know who the hell they were.

Your book can be famous without your name becoming famous. Quick: Who wrote The War of the Roses? Don't know? Don't feel bad. Until a few days ago I didn't know, either. His name is Warren Adler, and his famous book became a famous movie, and will soon be a famous Broadway musical.

Your book can be famous, and even your name can be famous without your face becoming famous. Would you recognize Dan Brown, author of The DaVinci Code, one of the most famous and talked-about books of all time? It was published in 2003 and his photo is on the inside of the back cover flap. Still can't conjure up an image in your mind? Wouldn't recognize him if he sat on your lap? His book has been promoted and its controversies endlessly debated across all the media, with Brown, himself, making few TV appearances. And in print, it's the book's cover that usually accompanies the article, not Brown's photo.

Despite these and other exceptions, the rule is usually that if your book becomes famous, your name and your face will become famous, too.

This is more than okay with most people since we live in such a fame-obsessed culture. Not only is everyone obsessed with the famous, everyone wants to be famous.

The last time I checked, the Founding Fathers' mantra was not "Life, Liberty, and the Relentless Pursuit of Celebrity," and the folks on Star Trek never once raised a spread-fingered hand to the immortal words: "Live Long and Become Famous." The Ten Commandments don't even insist "Thou Shall Be Famous," but a publisher will. And these days they'll want you to be famous for something before they'll give you a book contract. And this thing that makes you famous? Well, these days, more often than not, it's not writing.

For a handful of books published by the major publishers every year, fame-before-book-contract isn't an issue. Publishers will make the authors famous when the book comes out. And it doesn't take much effort or money. One phone call to a Larry King, Oprah, or Today Show producer oughta do the trick. Too bad they don't do that for every book.

But, alas, publishers have largely abandoned their responsibility to market, promote, and publicize their products -- your books. The majors require some degree of pre-book fame (they call it a platform). Independents require far less.

Unfortunately, authors rarely riot in the streets, march on New York, or orchestrate mass hunger strikes, so this relatively recent fame requirement isn't likely to change.

In fact, I suspect it'll probably get worse. And weirder.

At any moment, The New York Times Book Review could hit the newsstands with the first annual Sexiest Author Alive issue.

Hey, Matthew, it's time to start writing.

 

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Nina L. Diamond is a journalist, essayist, and the author of Voices of Truth: Conversations with Scientists, Thinkers & Healers. Her work has appeared in numerous publications, including Omni, The Los Angeles Times Magazine, The Chicago Tribune, and The Miami Herald.

Ms. Diamond was a writer and performer on Pandemonium, the National Public Radio (NPR) satirical humor program, for its entire run in Miami and select markets nationwide from 1984-1998. As an editor, she works frequently with other authors and journalists on both fiction and non-fiction.