real fame seekers know that wearing at least three necklaces guarantees photo and news coverage. duh.

Trans-Atlantic  famegamer, Peaches Geldof is back in the gossip pages this week as a result of her impending divorce from musician Max Drummer. The dissolution of the 19-year-old mouthy Britt’s marriage with her barely famous husband is just another disaster in a long line of bad press Peaches has accrued since immigrating to Brooklyn. After she was ridiculed for her short-lived column in Nylon, her reality show on MTV was canned, and the plug was pulled on her magazine, Disappear Here, one would think she would have disappeared into flannel shirt anonymity with the rest of her hipster pals.

But not this little British tart. Although Peaches would like you to believe her split from Drummer was amicable, “After much soul-searching we have made a mutual decision to end our marriage and have agreed to go our separate ways. Our parting is amicable and both of us still respect and care about each other immensely. There were no other people involved in this decision and we both look forward to a future as good friends” (Sunday Times), rumors swirling around the gossip pages about her getting cozy with another lady at a loft party in Bushwick and her new love affair with Donald Cumming lead me to believe otherwise.

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at least signatures are unique

A recent item on the Popwatch blog caught my attention with an opening sentence that recapitulates a common view about celebrities:

“In an era when manufactured “celebrities” are as common as drab backyard sparrows, Eartha Kitt, who died on Christmas day of colon cancer at age 81, was the kind of strange, wondrous, exotic bird you lay eyes on once and never forget.”

Celebrities, now as in the past, are not common, and they are not drab–one of their main features tends to be attractiveness.

The author, it seems, is making a generic distinction: Eartha Kitt, goes the claim, was unlike any other celebrity, a rarity even in that rarefied company.  And this got me thinking: what are the genres, or types, or cylon-style models, of celebrity?

The first that comes to my mind is the young, female pop star.  Madonna (once upon a time), Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Miley Cyrus.  All balance innocence and lasciviousness in a way that awakens the interest of millions.

Or the young comedy male.  Adam Sandler, Andy Samberg, Jim Carrey–all of whom balance awkwardness and a heart of gold to attract women and men alike.

Perhaps these shorthand sketches miss a lot more than they capture, but I think there is some truth to the idea that there are cultural niches that exist, and celebrities inhabit them for a time.

an unlikely combo?

Sponsorship can be as strategic as you make it. And this goes for both parties involved, sponsor and sponsored. The smartest sponsorships are those that establish something greater than a beneficial economic arrangement and greater than being, simply, a logical pairing—like McDonald’s and the Olympics—but wait, if McDonald’s clogs the arteries and eventually kills you how does that work?

At least one swimmer swears by it (so does another) and there lies the logic—with the guys eating like 14 pancakes and 5 bacon, egg, and cheeses for breakfast. Ryan Lochte, while not sponsored by McDonald’s himself, proves that Big Macs can, in fact, be the fuel that Olympians need to win and voila justification.

OK, so obviously there is a significant dollar sign factor to sponsorship. And if arguably ill-matched sponsors lead to greatness, is it worth sacrificing that greatness for what could be called an idealistic set of values?

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