I hate fame. I hate it because it’s an empty currency. I hate it because a system that deals in empty currencies leads to empty men.
People keep thinking we’re past our neanderthal days of judging men solely on their success and women solely on their beauty, but we’re not – in almost all fields men will always be judged on their accomplishments and women on their beauty first and foremost, everything else is secondary. Just look around, the numbers never lie.
Even in industries solely consisting of female audiences like relationship advice and sexology women will still listen to an accomplished man of average intelligence over an ugly woman at the pinnacle of genius. The words coming out of their mouths are always secondary, just look around.
And if the ability to provide food (success) and the ability to provide children (beauty) are still our species’ golden currency, fame is the paper dollar. It’s the currency not of gold, but the idea of it.
If you’re a famous woman you can walk into a company and tell them that you’re not actually willing to do anything of worth, but you will sell them your image of beauty. And if you’re a famous man you can sell them your image of success. For an exuberant price.
That’s insane! But a man named Donald Trump saw great opportunity in the madness and became the most qualified man in the field of the empty currency. Fame became his stock and trade. He sold his image left and right and he couldn’t do it fast enough. And to his pleasant surprise, the world’s madness deepened – America chose to make the images of success and beauty worth far more than actual success or beauty. He laughed.
And then he ran for president.
When his opponent ran against him trying to use the very currency he’s master of, he sat back and watched. She went about it all wrong and aligned herself with the image of success by hiring celebrities aplenty, and she crashed and burned. She failed to realize that men were judged on their success, women on their beauty. Or maybe she knew, but found herself in a conundrum in that you couldn’t win The White House solely on the image of beauty, unlike success.
But Trump knew that though you couldn’t win The House because of it, you could lose it. And so he stood up and uttered her death sentence – he told the world she was corrupt, ugly.
The moment it saw her as so it turned its head and started listening to the accomplished man of average intelligence. It didn’t matter that Trump was a walking catastrophe when it came to physical currencies, because though all his companies lose money, he looks rich, and so he is. The world had continued saying that the empty currency of the image was worth far more.
And he might have lost some fame in the scuffle for power, but he quickly got it back by shining a light on the women around him, showing the world that they’re as beautiful as the world wants of them. And by telling it the only string of words it’ll actually somewhat pay attention to – he told it a story it’s always loved to hear, the story of the underdog. Of an evil empire of bureaucrats, and of man who, made different, made rebel, by his very lack of political and military experience, would rise, for the people of course.
The nation loved that story.
And so now sits an empty man on the throne in the land of the empty currency. As he looks around he notices the women diligently working on their image of beauty and the men on their image of success, nothing of actual value was happening and he was glad.