We destroy our idols by refusing to let them have boundaries.
At the beginning, there is admiration. Talent, presence, something that moves us.
As that admiration grows, the person becomes a role.
They are no longer someone who sings. They become the singer.
I was only 10 years old when a 10-year-old Michael Jackson emerged into the world. He blew my mind—the music, the movement, the presence. I idolized him.
Over the years, as I followed his career, it became increasingly difficult to witness what was unfolding in the life of the man behind the music. The music remained extraordinary. What surrounded it was harder to make sense of.
I’ve felt that same admiration for many musicians. Their music has brought great joy and meaning to my life. I would never approach them in public or insert myself into their lives unless it was clearly invited—a setting where they are open to being approached.
Once someone is reduced to a role, boundaries begin to collapse.
Access is expected. Availability is assumed. Their life becomes something others feel entitled to.
There is no clear line between the performer and the person.
Stories about him arranging private shopping experiences just to move through a store like an ordinary person show the extent someone has to go to in order to create even the most basic boundary.
That kind of pressure doesn’t leave a person unchanged.
When there is no protected space to step out of the role, the role expands.
It takes over more and more of the person’s life.
We don’t destroy our idols in a single moment.
We do it by turning admiration into 24-7 access, access into expectation, and expectation into entitlement.
And in that process, the “man in the mirror” is overtaken by the version everyone else needs them to be.
