Gluteus Maximus Can’t Run Your Republic, But He Can Ruin It: Stop Listening to Celebrities

Meet Gluteus Maximus, Rome’s deadliest gladiator. He can lop off a Gaul’s head with one stroke, juggle three spears while flexing, and roar so loud the lions cower. His fans carve his name into walls, swoon in the stands, and chant for him in the streets. And then comes the weird part: they start asking him for advice. Not on swordplay—that would make sense—but on politics, marriage, morals, and the future of the Republic. Because, you know, nothing says “credible tax policy” like a man who just bludgeoned two Thracians before lunch.

This isn’t a joke about Rome. It really happened. Gladiators, charioteers, actors, and singers were adored, imitated, and often treated as if they carried wisdom far beyond their craft. Ancient Greece did it with playwrights. Medieval Europe did it with troubadours. Every age has its Gluteus Maximus. Celebrity worship isn’t new—it’s part of the human condition. We’ve always mistaken charisma and spectacle for wisdom and truth.

This is celebrity in a nutshell. People see excellence in one narrow arena and inflate it into universal authority. Rome had Gluteus Maximus. We have pop stars, influencers, and quarterbacks. The names change, the hydra stays the same.

The Hydra of Celebrity Worship

Why do people keep doing this? Because celebrity worship has many heads, and every time you cut one off, another grows back:

1. Visibility — Their faces are everywhere, so their voices sound bigger than they are. It feels like authority, but really it’s just overexposure.
2. Parasocial Bonds — You’ve never met them, but after a dozen Netflix binges, you feel like you have. That illusion of friendship makes their opinions seem personal, when in reality they don’t know you exist.
3. The Halo Effect — If someone can sing, surely they can solve Middle East peace, right? Wrong. Skill in one domain doesn’t automatically mean insight into another.
4. Entertainment as Religion — Priests in vestments have been replaced by actors on talk shows. Same sermon, flashier robes. When traditional institutions fade, celebrities step in to offer meaning—whether they deserve that role or not.
5. Media Amplification — Reporters love celebrity hot takes because “Rapper Condemns Inflation” gets more clicks than “Economist Releases 40-Page Report.” The press drives this cycle, turning shallow soundbites into public gospel.

That’s the hydra: cut off one head, and it grows two more. And the only reason it survives is because we keep feeding it.

Who Falls for It?

Not everyone bows before Gluteus Maximus, but certain people practically line up for an autograph on their brain:

• The Lonely — Without real community, a famous stranger becomes your “friend.” You end up trusting them because you have no one else to trust.
• The Young — Teens think TikTok stars are philosophers. They’re not. But kids crave role models, and in a vacuum, celebrities fill the gap.
• The Under-informed — If you can’t tell the difference between physics and public health, a quasar expert suddenly becomes Dr. Vaccine. It’s the halo effect: success in one field gets mistaken for expertise in all.
• The Ideologically Hungry — Looking for a cause? Any celebrity endorsement will do. That’s dangerous, because moral clarity should come from truth and principles, not fan clubs.
• The Status-Sensitive — Copying celebrity fashion is easier than thinking. But the deeper issue is that chasing status through imitation leaves you with borrowed values instead of your own.
• The Chronically Distracted — If you can’t finish an article, you’ll settle for a soundbite from someone with good hair. In reality, short attention spans make us vulnerable to shallow voices instead of substantial ones.

Borrowing a celebrity’s spoken views is like letting a mindworm crawl in through your ear. Over time, you swap out your own developing convictions for someone else’s prefabricated slogans. Eventually you think things but don’t know why you think them. That’s dangerous because it hollows out the very core of personal judgment—leaving you with opinions you didn’t earn, convictions you can’t defend, and a worldview built on borrowed scaffolding.

History offers brutal reminders. In 1930s Germany, Joseph Goebbels turned actors, singers, and filmmakers into propaganda celebrities; their borrowed glamour made poisonous ideology feel “normal.” Closer to home, Hollywood elites have swung public attitudes on family, sex, and morality not by argument but by repetition—slowly shifting the culture so people absorb positions without ever weighing them. When your mind gets colonized this way, you don’t even realize it’s happening until you wake up speaking someone else’s script.

That’s why inoculation matters.

How to Inoculate Yourself (and Others)

The cure isn’t to hate celebrities. It’s to remember they’re just people with very particular skills.

• Stop and think. Before you nod along with Celebrity McSparkle’s opinion on foreign policy, pause. Ask yourself if they’re actually qualified—or if you’re just dazzled by the spotlight. Slowing down breaks the automatic spell of fame.
• Separate expertise from everything else. Steve Irwin knew crocodiles. He did not know insurance. It’s fine to admire someone in their lane—just don’t let them steer you out of yours.
• Cultivate real relationships. Actual humans beat imaginary ones every time. Strong families, churches, and communities inoculate us against parasocial obsession.
• Ask the sanity test. Would I take this advice from my neighbor? If not, why take it from Gluteus Maximus? This strips away the halo and forces you to judge ideas on merit, not celebrity glow.
• Teach critical thinking. Especially to kids. “She’s famous” is not a qualification. The skill to separate fame from authority is one of the most important defenses we can give the next generation.
• Keep history handy. Rome adored its gladiators, but you wouldn’t want one running foreign policy—unless the plan involved stabbing Carthage repeatedly. History shows us that fame and wisdom rarely live in the same house.

Celebrities will always exist. The hydra can’t be slain. But it can be caged—if we stop confusing talent with wisdom, applause with authority, and fame with truth. Admire Gluteus Maximus in the arena, by all means. Just don’t hand him the Senate floor.

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