Bums in seats: the dollar value of celebrity bottoms

The very rich are different from you and me:

• they can afford better booze
• they never have to pay for their own drinks anyway
• even if they are quite palpably devoid of talent, they will be given at least one fashion collection to claim as their own design
• other famous people pretend to be their friends, whereas even your real friends sometimes pretend they’re not

and

• items upon which celebrities have rested their posteriorati are worth more than items which have only supported the hoi polloi.

I’ve always wanted to quantify this, because I am a strange person and I have a lot of time on my hands.

When Saint Christopher was de-sanctified and busted back down to “civilian with a great personality,” I went from pawn shop to pawn shop and scanned the classifieds eagerly (this was back before Craigslist, but after the invention of the printing press) trying to find one example of the impact of this demotion on the market for St. Christopher medals.

There was none.

Sure, they were gold, but they were gold that had always sold at considerably more than its melt value; obviously just being a St. Christopher medal was worth something. Naturally I expected when they turned into plain old Really Decent Guy Christopher Medals there’d be a drop in the street price, because Official Holy People are supposed to outrank Teh Mundanes. Silly, silly me.

I’d reckoned without the celebrity factor. Oh, the sanctification factor is worth something, sure; ask any call girl with a nun costume. But Really Decent Guy Christopher was still just as famous; no, he was suddenly more famous than St. Christopher. He was, thanks to the de-saintifying, notorious, and as we all know, being notorious outranks being merely famous.

Quick, name the last movie Lindsay Lohan was in.

See?

So while there may have been a slight drop in street value because the medals were no longer We-Can’t-Call-It-Magic-Because-It’s-Christian-But-You-Wear-It-For-A-Reason, there was a compensatory increase in value because the medals were now associated with a genuine A-list celebrity whose story was in every newspaper in the world. The church power decreased, while the notoriety power increased, making no net change in the value of the medals.

Which brings us to bums. Bums in seats. I refer, of course, to celebrity bums, and the value that the seats accrue by coming in supportive proximity to those bums.

We are speaking anatomically here, and not, say, about any unfortunate lifestyle choices in Anne Heche’s past.

Kim Kardashian's butt is more famous than she is

A friend of mine runs an upscale pub in Vancouver and it’d be pretty much impossible to find anyone in this city who doesn’t think of it as “that place where U2 hang out when they’re in town.” Naturally, the place is mobbed on St. Patrick’s Day, as is any place with any connection to Ireland, even if it’s just that the waitstaff’s nametags say “O’Schwartz” and “McNdebele”. And this one St. Patrick’s Day (when did this become a post about Irish Saints? They’ve never had much cash value) the place was at full capacity with a swarm of would-be pubbers thronging the sidewalk outside.

My pal feels a plucking at his elbow, which is odd, because he doesn’t keep any feathers there.

It’s a fellow who importunes him with tearjerking tales of how desperately he wants to get in, just to be where Bono has been, to see the things Bono has seen, to sit where Bono has satten, and not least of all, to impress the fellow with him, who is a client from out of town.

“at length he made an appeal to springs in [my friend's] nature which are never touched in vain, and [he] yielded. When [they] had settled the question in its financial aspect……”

which was about $500 later, if I recall. The newcomer and his client made their way inside, and a good time was had by all, particularly by the proprieter, as he watched the man literally fondle all the stools and sit on each, asking which one Bono had used, but taking no chances.

“Uh, we do wipe them down, you know. I mean, there’s no DNA, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

But the man was content with stool-fondling and seat-swapping and, treasuring up the memory of having shared bumspace with his hero (even if cruelly parted by time) he declared this to be one of the best nights of his life, and I’m sure it was, at that.

Which brings me to the Olympics, in a roundabout way. You see, the Olympics are betting on the cash value of celebrity bum space, too.

GM, an Olympic sponsor, is selling off by special dealer auction the deluxe Yukons and Tahoes that they used to ferry the VIP torchbearers around. This means you could buy a car with the bumprint of Ahnold the Gouvernator, croonmeister Michael Buble, Canadian superstar (yes, they exist) Jann Arden, or even the raw celebuglam power of a True/Slant blogger. Contact your local GM dealer to get the inside track on this, and Do let me know how much above the market value of the SUV you’re willing to pay for a chance at celebrity posterior proximity. That’s what the comments section is for, people!

Me, I want Eddie the Eagle’s perch.