Celebrities are not gods; they are humans. After the tragic death of Liam Payne, can we accept them in the flesh?

In my experience, celebrities enter into this Faustian bargain understanding, on some level, the loss of privacy it entails. Yet few truly understand the depth of this loss until they are fully exposed to its brilliance. Being famous in 2024 is like stepping into the spotlight that continues to follow you when you leave the stage.

And trust me, there’s no line this invasive projector won’t cross. Once inside, the media and public do not easily respect boundaries. They view public figures as public goods, goods whose personal lives are as interesting as their professional output.

At first, most newcomers are dazzled by the attention. It’s intoxicating: fame brings validation, a sense of identity, and often material wealth. And the stars believe they can manage it, even control it. Believing in this illusion of control is often their first mistake.

The line between public and private life begins to blur almost immediately. At first, celebrities may enjoy the attention, even profit from it. But as the scrutiny intensifies, so does the desire to set boundaries. The problem is, once you’re in the public eye, regaining privacy is a nearly impossible task.

The real tragedy is that this cycle is not only predictable, it is inevitable. Without a strong support system and a clear sense of self, the boundary between public and private life becomes virtually impossible to enforce. And when someone wants to get out, it’s often too late to escape the consequences of wanting to get in so badly.

I have seen this phenomenon intensify over the last four decades. The immense power of tabloid media, paparazzi, and reality television over our perceptions of celebrities created a backlash when the advent of social media transformed celebrities into their own, extremely powerful, autonomous publishing platforms.

But that didn’t make fame any easier to deal with. Where once a tabloid editor controlled how a celebrity’s words and actions were interpreted by the public, today talent agents, record labels, movie studios and brand partners all contribute to the construction of the filter between the person and the public idol. This filter often obscures their human vulnerabilities and dehumanizes the media and the public’s interactions with them.

And social media’s apparent shift in power between celebrities and the media has not, in fact, made maintaining privacy any easier. Social media has created the expectation of a steady rhythm of updates on this celebrity’s life; any period of silence becomes a void into which sordid speculation springs. Celebrities who decide to take control of their own narrative by communicating regularly can become trapped in this practice. The amateur dissection of Payne’s latest TikToks demonstrates the crushing pressure of scrutiny attracted by this ecosystem.

“Before you leave comments or make videos, ask yourself if you would like your own child or family to read them,” said Payne’s ex-partner and mother of his son, Cheryl Tweedy.

Payne’s mentor, former Take That star Robbie Williams, wrote: “Before you write anything on the internet, think: ‘Should I really post this?’ Because that’s what you do. You post your thoughts for everyone to read. Even if you don’t really think celebrities or their families exist. They fucking do it. Skin and bones and extremely sensitive.

This was aimed at the public. But those in media and entertainment, other players in the celebrity game, might also reconsider the duty of care we owe to celebrities.

In this feverish digital landscape, it’s easy to understand why some celebrities isolate themselves with layer after layer of managers, agents, publicists and lawyers. But sometimes, unless the balance between authentic humanity and protective corporate realpolitik is managed meticulously, it only further separates the human being from the public.

I have a client who is one of the most authentic communicators I have ever met, but whom I often have to shield behind a more direct corporate bat to protect him from media bombardment and hostilities on the social networks. But in reality, what I’m doing as a gatekeeper is denying supporters and critics a fuller, more authentic view of the human behind the public image.

The question asked by all those who seek or encounter the public gaze is eternal: what part of themselves do they give to the glory machine, and at what price? It takes them to places beyond their wildest dreams, but it can spit them out suddenly, brutally. We’re looking at that too.

It’s part of the deal, but after Liam Payne’s death, we might wonder if it’s a good deal we still want.

Mark Borkowski is a crisis public relations consultant and author

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