For The Camera

One

Eli

Is everything in Hollywood fake?

Absolutely.

Does that keep people from obsessing over it?

Of course not.

I think that in the back of their head most people know that not everything is just how it seems, that the drama and the glamour and the picture-perfect lives of their idols that they see in the media can't possibly be an accurate depiction of reality.

They know this and yet they choose to ignore it. They like to cling to the idea of a perfect world where the rich and famous live in luxury and face no problems. Maybe it's inspiring or whatever, to think that there's a possibility, however small it may be, to escape the dull existence as a normal member of society and come to fame through a stupid clip on the internet or a conversation with the right person at a party.

To them, Hollywood must seem like Heaven's front yard, just a step away from not having to worry about anything ever again, like money and popularity are all it takes to have peace of mind. And so they keep watching, keep clicking, keep buying. Keep wasting their time following stories and scandals that publicists think up over their lunch in the cafeteria.

I suppose I was one of those people, a few years ago. But not anymore. Not since I've had the chance to meet some of those characters from the TV screen in person, without a camera in and a smile on their face. 

Celebrities lead a strange life that is constantly torn between extremes: They rise mile-high into the sky and then they crash hard. Some of them don't survive the rise because they start to fly too close to the sun. Others don't make it through the fall, when everything they had goes up in flames. Either way, they burn. There's no spark left in the eyes of those I've talked to in interviews, no trace of the charisma they exude on people's flat screens. 

Being a journalist is an odd profession because on one hand I want to tell the readers all of this, but on the other I know that I need to cater to the illusion if I want the magazine to be bought. It was easier when I had only just started working for Insider, perhaps because I hadn't met many of the burn-outs yet. Reading my more recent articles it is more obvious that I'm torn. 

And it doesn't just stand out to me; the red markings are becoming more and more frequent in every draft that I hand over to Liz, the unlucky editor who is usually the one to proof-read my work. TS is what she has scribbled next to at least five lines in the article I'm flipping through right now. It's her abbreviation for Too Snarky or, alternatively, Too Sarcastic, neither of which the readers of Insider can apparently handle. 

It's not something I can easily avoid and by now I'm getting sick of straightening it out afterwards. Perhaps it's not just my articles but me who is TS. 

Sighing, I lean back in my chair and look around the office. It's pretty deserted by now, most of my co-workers have gone home already. When I glance over at the big clock hanging above the printers, I am surprised to see it's already ten in the evening. The only people still sitting at their desks are those who have to meet a deadline tonight, which I don't.

Usually I don't like delaying unfinished work, but my enormous lack of motivation and the way my back cracks as I stretch a little convince me to call it a day. The sounds of typing and a phone vibrating somewhere, along with some muttered replies to my "See you" follow me into the corridor as I leave.

I want to head straight for the elevator in order to get home as quickly as possible, but then my eyes fall onto the door to my left, which is slightly ajar. My boss's name, Kara Sharpe, is glinting on a small metal plate below the number of the room. I've been here dozens of times and Kara and I get along well, but I still get nervous every time before I enter, probably due to my history of having a bit of a problem with authority figures. Even if they're only ten years older than me and 5'3'' tall.