The Great Switcheroo: Why the public no longer cares if celebrities sell out
A new essay argues that Americans have traded their disdain for billionaires for a tolerance of celebrity commercialism, viewing fame as a more accessible path to wealth.
A cultural essay published on Experimental History proposes that the modern public has become remarkably tolerant of shameless celebrity commercialism, a shift the author terms the "Great Switcheroo." The piece, titled "Stop Eating Lady Gaga's Oreos," uses the pop star’s collaboration with the cookie giant as a case study for a broader change in social dynamics. The author argues that while Americans have grown to dislike billionaires, they favour celebrities because the attention economy offers a more accessible path to upward mobility than traditional wealth.
The essay contrasts the current landscape with the 1990s, when the stigma of "selling out" was a dominant cultural anxiety. In that era, bands like Pearl Jam refused to make music videos or appear in commercials to maintain artistic integrity, viewing commercial success as a threat to their credibility. The author notes that this anti-consumerist vibe, which included a general distrust of corporate branding, has largely evaporated. Today, figures such as Iggy Pop sell insurance and Bob Dylan appears in Victoria’s Secret commercials, with fans often excited by these tie-ins rather than repelled by them.
Supporting this shift, the essay cites YouGov data indicating that while no surveyed billionaire is liked by more than 50% of the population, celebrities maintain significantly higher approval ratings. Lady Gaga, for instance, has a 61% approval rating, and Samuel L. Jackson enjoys 81% approval. The author suggests that this disparity stems from a change in how people view their own potential. Individuals now see themselves as "temporarily unknown celebrities" rather than "temporarily embarrassed millionaires," leading them to exempt famous figures from the moral scrutiny once applied to the ultra-wealthy.
This tolerance is underpinned by the financial infrastructure of the attention economy. The essay highlights how platforms like the YouTube Partner Program, Stripe, and Patreon made it easier to convert online fame into income, transforming overnight virality from a source of embarrassment into a profitable career path. As it has become harder to become rich through traditional means, the prospect of becoming famous has remained viable, creating a sense of shared possibility between the public and their idols.
The author also links this shift to the decline of professional art criticism and the rise of "poptimism," a movement that argued popular art was as meritorious as any other form. This ideological change blurred the line between art and advertisement, allowing kitsch to become a mainstream pleasure. By catering to the consumer rather than the connoisseur, the cultural elite has lost the ability to distinguish between a single and a jingle, effectively washing away the boundary that once separated artistic integrity from commercial greed.
Ultimately, the essay argues that the public’s appetite for celebrity commerce is a form of self-deception. By believing that celebrities are just like us, we exempt them from the obligations of noblesse oblige. The author concludes that to restore a sense of seriousness to culture, the public must stop pretending that celebrity success is their own and redraw the line between art and advertisement.

