Fuck Your Coloring Book!

One of my favorite people in the world, who I have defended before, is back! New, semi-crazy but pretty fucking cool blog post! Sure, it’s got a rant about fashion I don’t understand, but the better point is here (I’m putting proper capitalization on his words):

“Remember, there was a time when everybody dissed Michael Jackson every chance they could. Imagine the pressure of being a true icon. Very few human beings are strong enough to take constant hate! If we don’t do what you feel is the shit, you beat us up verbally and mentally, like a Catholic school teacher beating a creative student into submission. I can hear you screaming ‘color inside the lines!’ Well fuck your coloring book.”

There are three things here worth discussing. First is the obvious point—he’s right—as an “icon,” he constantly gets analyzed and beat to shit like everyone else. Sure, he chooses to be an icon, but goddamn don’t we want that? We need icons, he is one. It sucks that we do this to people we like and admire.



Second, you’re made because he called himself an icon in the first place. What, is he supposed to act all doe-eyed and fascinated when he sees his fans and realizes his popularity? Fuck that. It would be even worse if he pretended he wasn’t a celebrity. Are we mad because he’s popular now? Did we think he was better before all of this, before we had to share him with everyone else? If we liked him then didn’t we want this for him? When did I become a question-talker?

The third thing is that sure, we don’t want him always rapping about his celebrity. We don’t want yes men around them so they don’t know what’s worth a shit and what’s not. We want them, at least in essence and spirit, to remain the same, to be able to draw us in for the same reasons they attracted us in the first place. But for them to be able to do that, we have to give them support, which may mean ignoring them when they do something we hate and loving them when they do something awesome. But mostly, it means not being dicks to people we’ve never met.