How to get famous (without losing the plot)

A guide to social status, self-destruction and why mystery still matters

The irony of wanting to be seen

Fame is something people chase relentlessly, often without stopping to ask why. In theory, it offers validation, admiration, and a shortcut to feeling important. But in reality? I’ve seen fame up close, and it’s not what people think.

In my work, I meet a huge variety of public figures. Some are globally known, others just starting to gain visibility. My contracts vary a lot, from year-long crisis management to one-off calls, media prep, or sitting in on legal consultations to assess the reputational impact of unfolding cases. I’ve done PR training for interviews, strategic lunches, and more often than people realise, home visits. It’s not unusual for a public figure to ask me to meet at their house because they’re struggling with backlash or navigating sudden exposure and don’t want to be seen in public.

That’s the side of fame no one really talks about… the panic, the private unravelling, the fear of going outside.

Because of this strange, shifting role, I’ve ended up working with a wide mix of personalities and seeing a full spectrum of how fame plays out. And I can confidently say the one thing I would never want is to be famous.

I’ve walked down the street with clients and watched strangers shout their name just to get others to turn and stare. I’ve seen people follow us around shops or try to discreetly film them while pretending not to. It’s uncomfortable. Often, if I suggest dinner, they’ll offer to cook instead or invite themselves to my office or home, just to avoid the risk of being seen out in public. Fame has changed. Social media made it more accessible but also more intrusive. And for many, it’s lost its glamour entirely.

If you’re dreaming of fame, you should know what it really looks like.

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The not-so-glamorous reality

From the outside, fame appears like power. On the inside, it often feels like entrapment. You’re constantly watched and constantly evaluated. The pressure to always look “on” is relentless, and any mistake, a wrong word or an off moment, can be replayed forever online.

But worse than that, fame can make you paranoid. I’ve seen clients become hyper-aware of who’s looking at them and whether they’re being filmed. They learn to scan a room for camera phones. They take detours to avoid attention. Their everyday choices become calculated rather than spontaneous. Imagine having to edit your humanity every time you step outside.

Behind closed doors, it’s not the glamorous, busy, popular life most people imagine. Many are surrounded by people yet deeply isolated. Because when you’re famous, people rarely see you. They see what they want to see, or what they can take.

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The psychology behind the obsession

So if it’s all so awful, why do people still want fame?

Because we’ve normalised the idea that visibility equals value. It’s been drilled into us by decades of talent shows and social media platforms that promise instant status in exchange for attention. From X Factor and America’s Got Talent to The Voice and Love Island, we’ve absorbed the idea that fame is the fastest route to meaning, money and self-worth. The rise is always romanticised. The aftermath is rarely shown.

I regularly speak at secondary schools for careers days and business studies classes, and it’s genuinely shocking how many teenagers now openly say they want to be influencers, YouTubers or on reality TV. Not doctors, not writers, not entrepreneurs. Just famous.

I also receive around thirty emails a week from people, or more often their parents, asking if I can help them or their child become famous. I have no idea why they come to me specifically, but the consistency is striking. Fame is no longer seen as a by-product of talent or achievement. It’s seen as a goal in itself.

Psychologists have linked the desire for fame to unmet emotional needs, a craving for validation, visibility or the sense of being special. One study, The Fame Motive (Giles & Maltby), outlined three key drivers: the need to be recognised, to be remembered and to escape anonymity.

But what I’ve observed is something else too. For many public figures, fame triggers a kind of endorphin chasing. I’ve worked with singers after world tours who feel depleted. They’ve gone from being cheered on stage every night to silence. I’ve seen actors crash emotionally after press tours and film releases. Even talent show winners, who receive huge attention overnight, often find themselves spiralling once the relevance wears off.

That dopamine hit of being needed, adored and talked about fades. And so the chase begins again. New projects, new performances, new content, just to feel that high again. It’s a toxic cycle. Fame doesn’t fix insecurity. It inflames it.

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The different types of fame now

Fame used to be structured. There was a clear A to Z-list system, mostly controlled by magazine editors and broadcasters. You knew where someone sat on the ladder. Fame was hierarchical, and it was hard to get in.

Now, fame is chaotic. Social media ripped the gatekeepers away, and suddenly anyone can go viral. There are now entirely separate worlds of public recognition, you’ve got actors, musicians and traditional celebrities in one tier, and then influencers, TikTokkers, YouTubers, podcast hosts, meme accounts and niche creators who are all famous in their own circles.

Fame is now contextual. Someone might be completely unknown to the mainstream but have obsessive fame within a niche. The most successful people understand this and play into their specific audience rather than trying to appeal to everyone.

And it’s never been easier to go viral. Even my own agency once had a video hit 5 million views, purely by chance. Not because of any deep strategy, just because the algorithm pushed it. TikTok and Instagram Reels are designed to create microbursts of viral fame every day. It keeps the platform interesting. But what it really does is inflate visibility, then discard it quickly when the next moment comes along.

The platforms are designed to keep you watching, not to make you successful. You are part of the content rotation. If you don’t build something beyond that moment, it ends as quickly as it began.

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What actually works (from what I’ve seen first-hand)

In between crisis calls, launches and legal clean-ups, I’ve seen what builds real longevity, and what destroys it.

Here’s the truth: building a lasting public image isn’t about going viral. It’s about understanding who your audience is and staying intentional.

1. Know your demographic.

If your appeal is based on being a heartthrob, posting your partner might crush your brand. But if your audience sees you as aspirational (like a Taylor Swift-type) being in a relationship can make you more relatable, stable, even more adored.

I’ve had real conversations with clients where we weigh up, based on their core demographic, whether being publicly single or publicly partnered is smarter. It’s not manipulation, it’s positioning. There’s a difference.

2. Be careful what you share.

Oversharing can kill mystique and damage trust. Your audience doesn’t need to know everything. Being smart about how much of yourself you give away isn’t about being fake, it’s about protecting your image and longevity.

Before social media, celebrities were only seen in controlled environments, press tours, red carpets, brand campaigns and the occasional paparazzi moment. That distance created allure. Shows like MTV Cribs became a phenomenon because no one had ever seen inside a celebrity’s home. That kind of access was rare, which made it fascinating.

Now, with social platforms, people share everything. Their lunch, their morning face, their kids, their breakups, their living rooms. The mystique fades fast. The minute you show your life is like everyone else’s, you stop feeling aspirational. Once your life becomes reality, and reality is often uninspiring, people lose interest. Because you’re human, and that’s not what many people are following you for.

Unless you’re a reality TV star like the Kardashians, whose brand was built on selective oversharing, it rarely works. They chose what to reveal and when, and that control is what made their version of real life sellable. For most people, less is more.

3. Be kind, but not a walkover.

Rudeness is noticed fast, and it sticks. I’ve seen people who were just starting to gain traction speak so badly to the people around them… assistants, stylists, producers, and it never ends well. Being a diva without any track record to back it up is the fastest way to be kicked out of the industry.

The people who go furthest tend to be the ones who are respectful, thoughtful and easy to work with, but still sharp enough to hold their ground. Kindness matters, but so does strategy. You don’t need to be everyone’s friend. But if you’re difficult before you’re successful, no one will want to help you when it counts.

4. Don’t confuse attention with respect.

Some people get attention by being loud, controversial or reckless, but that rarely lasts. If people are only watching because they’re waiting for you to mess up, you haven’t built an audience. You’ve built a countdown.

The ones who succeed long-term often have quiet consistency, intentional decisions and control over what they share and when. It’s not as dramatic as a viral hit, but it works.

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Fame, Influence, Power: They’re not the same

Fame gets you attention. Influence gets you impact. Power gets you outcomes.

The people I’ve seen move the needle aren’t always the ones with millions of followers. They’re often the ones who say less but know when to say it. Who don’t perform for attention but build quiet control behind the scenes.

There’s an art to being seen just enough. Most people never learn it.

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So why do people still want it?

It makes sense. We live in a world where visibility gets rewarded, with opportunities, admiration, sometimes even money. Of course people want to be seen. Of course people want to feel like they matter.

But the version of fame that people imagine is rarely the version that plays out. Most of what’s seen is heavily curated. The chaos, the fear, the admin behind the scenes, that bit doesn’t get posted.

And when the audience moves on, which it almost always does, you’re left figuring out what was real, what was performance, and how to start again.

That doesn’t mean fame isn’t worth chasing. It just means if you’re going to chase it, make sure you know what you’re building, and who you’re becoming in the process.