Bigheaded
The fragmentation of popular culture means we no longer have a useful universal marker for success in artistic fields. Having the most streamed song in the country grants an artist none of the ubiquity a Top of the Pops appearance once ensured. I think Olivia Dean (currently holding four places in Spotify’s Top 10) is great, but you’d struggle to find a house in which she’s a household name. The most watched show on telly is just as likely to be the least watched show in your office, given the vast number of options and outlets. (“Have you seen The Bad Murders on Prance? It gets good after season fourteen.” “No, me and the wife are rewatching Dr. Scrotum on Weeble.”) There’s no celebrity consensus, no agreed upon A-list; we still have movie stars winning Oscars but they’re no one my mum knows. My cousin won’t have heard any of the music at this year’s BRIT Awards, nor is he likely to have seen the films hailed at last night’s BAFTAs. When we were children, even our misanthropic granny who only enjoyed westerns and wrestling could identify the pop and film stars in the Christmas quiz (in reality a pile of famous faces cut out of the TV Times with one or two incorrectly identified by my quiz-setting uncle, resulting in an annual uproar: “If that’s Paul Newman he’s had a hard life. Paul Oldman, more like. It’s Marlon Brando you berk! We want a point for that…”
I doubt any of my relatives know what Funko Pops are either, but it occurred to me those macrocephalic vinyl effigies have outlived what should’ve been a Beanie Babies-esque boom and bust to become our only reliable indicator of who or what matters in the world of things that don’t really matter. If you’ve made your mark in pop culture (whatever that is now) you or your creation will be immortalised in the style of Japanese Chibi animation then sold to an adult who will preserve it mint in the box in the hope it’ll one day be a valuable collectable, although in most cases it’s destined to gather dust in their home office before joining millions of unwanted others in the digital car boot sale of Vinted.
There is not and never will be a Funko of my face, but I recently discovered that my face is on the back of a Funko Pop box. “Adjacent to achievement is an achievement in itself,” I tell the postman as he hands me the pristine Shaun of the Dead doll I bought on eBay from someone who’d already regretted their purchase.
