God Mode and Chocolate Cake: Why We Idolise the Ordinary Over the Exceptional

In today’s society, we seem increasingly drawn to celebrities of no particular distinction—people who are famous not for talent, intelligence, or meaningful contribution, but simply for being visible. Reality TV stars, influencers, and social media personalities dominate headlines and screens, often celebrated for little more than their lifestyle, personal drama, or follower count. Meanwhile, true brilliance—scientists, artists, thinkers, or quiet innovators—often goes unnoticed, their achievements too nuanced or complex to fit into a tweet or a 15-second video on TikTok.

This isn’t entirely new. People have been lamenting the dumbing down of culture for decades. But the scale and intensity of this trend feels different now. A Nobel laureate may get a passing mention in the news, but a reality TV star’s dating life will dominate media cycles for weeks.

One of my favourite videos on YouTube is Prince absolutely stealing the show during the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame tribute to George Harrison. If there was ever a moment where an artist activated “God Mode” in real life, it’s this.

At the time of writing, it’s been viewed over 46 million times—so yes, it has received its fair share of attention. And I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s watched it more than a few times. But then you glance at what’s trending, and you’ll see a video called “How to eat chocolate cake with your friends” sitting comfortably at 58 million views.

There’s an uncomfortable truth in that. We tend to idolise the familiar, not the extraordinary. When someone displays a skill so far beyond our reach, it can feel alienating. It reminds us of our own limitations. In contrast, the average influencer—flawed, relatable, and perpetually online—feels accessible. We see ourselves in them, or perhaps the version of ourselves we might be if luck and algorithms smiled our way.

So we gravitate toward the comfortable. The celebration of the ordinary becomes a kind of emotional shelter. True excellence requires effort to appreciate. It demands patience, humility, even reverence—qualities that don’t always survive in the rapid churn of digital culture. It’s easier to laugh with someone over breakfast than to engage with a masterwork of art, science, or music.

Michael Palmisano’s video analysis of the same Prince performance is another example. It’s filled with genuine insight, technical breakdowns, and sheer appreciation. In my opinion, his commentary deserves to be celebrated as a masterpiece in its own right.

But that’s the tension we’re living in. In idolising the average, we risk losing sight of the exceptional. We lower the bar for what we admire, and in doing so, we risk forgetting how to recognise brilliance at all. And perhaps worse: a culture that forgets how to recognise genius may also forget how to create it.