By now the world knows about “Balloon Boy,” the young Coloradan allegedly trapped in the wayward balloon, and his scheming, fame-seeking parents, staging the stunt for media attention. Cable news networks continue to cover the case, newspapers provide regular updates, and we, the American masses, can’t stop talking about it. Good! Such notoriety is just what Richard Heene wanted.
But as contemptible as the Heenes’ scam was, it was simply an expression—however extreme—of a national culture of fame hunting and voyeurism.
We each seem to harbor an insistent belief that we are special and our lives are interesting to others, a self-confidence that has escalated to self-obsession. Some sate their desires for public self-reflection and promotion with constant Twitter updates and other online navel-gazing, pressing the minutiae of their lives on a select group of “friends.” Others seek a larger stage, only content with national fame—or rather, infamy. The literarily inclined might write memoirs about their traumatic childhoods, cooking misadventures, hidden disorders, secret addictions, or all of the above.
Reality television shows cultivate and prey on these delusions of grandeur, promising instant fame and/or riches to anyone willing to bleat out a tune, lose weight, battle addiction, seek love (or maybe just STDs), undergo plastic surgery, fox trot/mambo/waltz, or self-destruct on national television. Meanwhile, washed-up stars, from former boy band members to former House of Representative Majority Leaders, seek to reenter the national stage, appearing on a variety of “celebrity” reality shows, hoping to tango, ice skate, or confess their way back into America’s hearts. And many bona fide celebrities, already too famous for their own good, can’t help but seek more exposure, brandishing their romances, heartbreaks, pregnancies, adoptions, weight gains and losses, and family secrets on tabloid covers and in primetime interviews.
We’re eager to parlay anything—hyper-fertility (the Duggars), marital dysfunction (the Gosselins), disposable incomes ("The Real Housewives"), obesity ("Celebrity Fit Club"), good looks and cliquey infighting ("Laguna Beach" and its offshoots), and general shamelessness (any number of reality shows)—into a slice of fame. And when many of our “stars” have no identifiable talent beyond paparazzi-baiting and genital-flashing, can we truly blame ordinary Americans for thinking they too can snatch a piece of that Hollywood pie? “If Paris Hilton can translate vapidity and vulgarity into global fame, why can’t I?” many wonder. The Heenes clearly wondered the same thing and decided to capitalize on the public’s fascination with disaster. When their storm-chasing gimmick didn’t garner them a personal reality show and its attendant fame, they staged a drama on the national theater, duping an audience of millions.
Can we really be shocked by the Heenes’ actions? After all, didn’t we as a society create the Heenes and their great hoax? Their ruse was only the greatest and more despicable in a long series of stunts for fame, in the tradition of Paris Hilton’s sex tape and Jon and Kate’s tabloid bickering? In fact, this great balloon conspiracy actually extends and perverts a long tradition of American self-promotion and self-advancement, the Horatio Alger story of pulling oneself up by one’s own bootstraps—or, in this case, tarp balloon. While our grandparents may have been content to pull themselves up to a quiet middle class life, we will only be satisfied with fame—or maybe just infamy. The American Dream is now national notoriety—achieved not through hard work but through stunts, spectacles, and frequently the exploitation of one’s children.
And you know what? Richard Heene’s grand scheme worked. For several hours on October 15 the nation watched horrified as a balloon presumably containing six-year-old Falcon Heene floated 7,000 feet above the Colorado plains. Even after the Heenes “discovered” Falcon was never in the balloon and suspicions about the story’s truth mounted, the nation and media’s attention remained focused on the family. Even now, almost three weeks later, they remain in the spotlight.
Digging further into Richard Heene’s past we uncover a frustrated fame hunter, a failed actor and comedian who had twice appeared with his family on "Wife Swap" and tried unsuccessfully to pitch a reality show to TLC. As Falcon Heene’s own remark that “we did this for the show” has indicated, the family likely staged the incident to promote and market this possible show. While they may be destined for jail rather than a TLC reality show, the Heenes are certainly famous. Surely, once they serve their possible prison sentences, some television network will want to film a reality show about the shamed family. Richard Heene has played the fame game—and won.
Of course, these fame monsters couldn’t exist or indeed flourish without the voyeurism of the American public. Our fascination with tragedy, disaster, and celebrity meltdown is the pop culture equivalent of car crash gawking. We couldn’t turn away from unfolding drama of the boy in the balloon, and after the incident was widely accepted as a hoax our interest only increased. But as long as we continue to stare at oddities and calamities, revel in others’ humiliation and eat up their exploits, the Paris Hiltons of our world will continue to release sex taps, the Gosselins will continue to string their dirty laundry up on a national clothesline, and Richard Heene and his ilk will continue to stage hoaxes—all to attract our attention.
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Editor's note: Articles that appear in the Last Word section are works of satire.
