I Dreamt I Met Kanye — He Didn’t Even Like Me
The idea of a celebrity, or idol, is actually really weird. It typically involves one person who’s all-in on the possibility of a friendship — the other? Well, they don’t know the other person even exists.
Yeah, Kanye West will never know who the hell I am.
Regardless of this, I will continue to study him as a living-historical figure. He’s an interesting one; as a business, an emotion, and, most of all, as a product. He is a master of exposure. So yes, I will continue to binge-watch Kanye’s spoken word, cherish his cinematic discography, and undoubtedly view him as a societal leader.
This is the game we play.
I am like a pawn.
He is like a King.
This is literally the game we play…
Luckily, however, we don’t have to stay in reality 100% of the time. Thankfully, our brains are able to launch consciousness into extreme levels of glorified delusion! I’m talking about dreaming.
And in there, I got face-to-face with Kanye.
It did not go as planned.
Step foot into a blueish, open floor area with several cramped side rooms. Nobody announced Mr. West is in the building or anything like that — it was just known, I knew what was happening. (That’s how dreams work, I think🤔)
An obese floor-guide enters the picture and tries telling me Kanye has left. A brief scan of the dream lets me know he is fucking lying. As he spoke, the dream seemingly unfocused and mystified. Basically, I didn’t give a shit about this fat guy.
Then, outta the corner of my eye, I notice Ye. He’s alone in a room, reclined in an office chair, glaring at me holding a blank face — deadass. Zero emotion. Fuck.
“This is it” I thought.
I hover towards him (you know, cause this is a dream, and that’s what you do in dreams).
Now, this is where that awkward celebrity dynamic comes into play. Never in real life have I met, or spoken with, a famous person I deeply respected or idolized. But I’ve thought about what it would be like. In every scenario, I imagine looking and feeling like a total jackass.
This dream was no different.
Alright, so the first thing anyone wants to do when they meet their hero is express to them that they’re your hero. Which is a weird thing — it’s not common to ambush someone in hopes of instantly winning them over. But people are compelled to do it because “this is your one chance!” So, you dive into that narrative of “oh my god it’s you. You have no idea, the work you did on blah blah blah.”
That type of thing.
But I didn’t want to do that to Kanye. I just wanted to show love and respect and have a conversation and treat him like a normal person.
As I sat down across from him, I smiled and said “Hi.”
In fact, he didn’t even acknowledge me at all. He just held that blank stare which ironically screams boredom. This would go on for a few moments until I broke. I couldn’t have a normal conversation with him. After all, nothing about this situation was normal.
So, before I left, I decided I might as well tell him how I really feel.
I said “Kanye, I just want you to know you’ve inspired me. Not necessarily as a rap artist, but as a person of influence. I admire your benign ability to affect positive change into the world.”
He was looking at me now — almost like an innocent child. He gave a nod, as if to keep speaking.
“Your willingness to challenge the status-quo and authority is most inspiring. Forget the appurtenances, your chains, and — ”
He stopped me.
“I don’t know what that word means.”
It caught me off guard. Then, out of nowhere, this thought spilled outta my brain into the dream: “I want to change the world more than you did.”
His brow immediately lowered; the room changed.
“HOW BRO?! You ain’t been doing the research!!”
It was at this moment, I knew I had messed up. Recollections of ‘How Sway?’ came forward. The dream fizzled and muted. Kanye struck fury, demanding answers to why in the world I would utter such an absurd comment.
The dream abruptly converted into a nightmare.
Ah, this dream encapsulates the unbelievable disconnect created by fame.
People spend their whole lives looking up to actors, musicians, and athletes. We Google them, read their Wikipedia, watch their lives online — we aspire to be like them. In our minds (and only in our minds), these people become like our friends.
Then we meet them in real time and it shatters everything.
You suddenly realize the “relationship” is oddly uncomfortable, lopsided, and unnatural.
You can try to “woo” them all you want: bring them gifts, spend weeks drawing their face, rattle off every reason why you’re their biggest fan…
But it’s just weird.
And it won’t feel natural because fame creates an unnatural divide.
So, I guess the moral of the story is: I am deeply disappointed.
I couldn’t get Kanye to like me — not even in my dreams.