There’s a new phenomenon dominating social media as of late. This time, it’s yet another undesirable personality trait: the infamous “main character” complex. It’s exactly what it sounds like, positing individuals as metaphorical “protagonists” — or better yet, movie stars. Many of us deny this part of ourselves, but in truth, we all live out stardom reveries in one way or another. We sing in the shower; we gaze wistfully out of car windows while listening to our gloomy score of choice; we conduct mock late-night show interviews in our bedrooms in the wee hours of the morning. But especially in this day and age, fantasies of fame have hidden drawbacks. Behind the pomp and frill lies a web of beliefs that fame brings about a special sense of fulfillment that’s unavailable to the general population. It’s clear that these desires are less about fame and more about the desire to be seen by others, but the fantasy still lingers. I myself often ruminate over this conundrum: why is it so hard to shake our lust for fame?

This compulsion has long been studied in various fields, and was eventually coined as the “Cult of Celebrity” by psychologist & author Cooper Lawrence. Unsurprisingly, an overwhelming amount of the research is informed by outdated values, framing Gen Z as screen-addicted narcissists. But the Cult of Celebrity ideology is nothing new. Ever since its invention, TV has been a central factor of what shapes one’s perceptions of the world — especially for young developing minds. The values and cultures of our generation share close ties with the celebrity-centric narratives in youth programs: namely, those from Disney and Nickelodeon.

In their defense, these networks do a nice job of underscoring their episodes with valuable life lessons. But underlying morals can only go so far, even when they aim to expose the underbelly of fame. Our beloved characters’ entire lives are informed by their fame: their development arcs, their episode plot lines, their relationships, their conflicts — everything. While this trope dates back to the works of Lucille Ball back in the day, the blueprints for tweens’ and kids’ quasi-celebrities today are protagonists like Hannah Montana’s Miley Stewart and iCarly’s Carly Shay.

Hannah Montana’s Miley Stewart represents an interesting paradox. Simulating the sacrifices that come with a life of stardom throughout the show, Miley’s disposition presents a clear anti-fame message. This approach is well-intended, yet ultimately futile. What would Miley’s life be if not for her fame? What would be the outlet for her passions? Or the source of each valuable lesson she learns? Her place and role in the world around her would drastically change; she’d no longer be getting the “best of both worlds,” so to speak. Despite portraying the negatives, Hannah Montana still makes stardom out to be an adventure of sorts, and a way to gain the admiration and recognition of others. Who wouldn’t want to live like that?

iCarly’s Carly Shay reaches new heights with the added component of social media — an increasingly relevant element of Cult of Celebrity proselytism. The fictional web show realizes the process of becoming a celebrity in a way that Hannah Montana cannot, emulating the DIY social media approach à la YouTube. During iCarly’s prime, viral YouTube videos (and their creators) were emerging as a new form of stardom. iCarly directly portrayed this process, helping to transform the Cult of Celebrity from a cultural craze to an interactive quest, available to all. The Hollywood royalty-type status tumbled out of vogue, making room for a new down-to-earth, relatable model. The spectacle-spectator gap narrowed as creators and consumers now occupied the same platform, and the mad dash towards fame became a daily part of our lives both offline and online. Hannah Montana instilled this glorified picture of the starlet lifestyle in our young minds — and iCarly gave us a map to attain that status.

With all that said, it’s imperative to criticize the present academic discourse around celebrity worship. How can Gen Z be held responsible for indoctrinations we did not create? How is it possible that fame obsession is a product of one generation? We all want to be known; to be adored; to leave a mark on the world. We’re social climbers, budding influencers, lifestyle vloggers, meme page admins, you name it — but we’re not morally corrupt. Selfish or vain as our inclination towards stardom may be, it’s merely a refraction of a long-existing cultural praxis.

TV Taught Me How to Feel