The relationship between public adulation and political ambition is neither new nor geographically confined. What distinguishes the present moment, particularly in a democracy, is the scale and the sophistication with which celebrity status is being converted into political capital. This conversion is not inherently illegitimate. However, it demands scrutiny.
Understanding the phenomenon begins with its psychological foundations. Researchers have identified what they term as ‘parasocial relationships’, one-sided emotional bonds that audiences form with public figures who remain entirely unaware of their admirers’ existence. These exist on a spectrum: from casual admiration, through intense personal identification, to what psychologists describe as borderline pathological attachment in which the fans would perform any act on behalf of their idol.
Hero worship manifests with particular force in three domains: sport, cinema, and politics. In sport, devotion is anchored in verifiable achievement. In politics,
charisma and governance can, over time, be assessed against outcomes. Cinema, however, is a different proposition altogether. Its power rests on illusion, on the deliberate construction of an identity that has no necessary connection to the person behind it. An actor who portrays courage or social conscience on screen may have demonstrated neither quality in life. However, for audiences that have spent years investing emotional energy in that persona, the distinction between character and person frequently dissolves.
The conversion of cinematic popularity into electoral support is well-documented across democracies. In the United States of America, Ronald Reagan, Arnold Schwarzenegger, and Donald Trump each leveraged celebrity capital to enter politics. In the Philippines, Joseph Estrada rode mass adulation to the presidency, only to be convicted of corruption. Closer home, the intersection of cinema and electoral politics has been structurally embedded in several Indian states for decades.
C.J. Vijay’s trouncing of the two Dravidian majors in Tamil Nadu is a recent case in point.
A 2019 paper in the journal, Perspectives on Politics, introduces the concept of “epistemic power” — the disproportionate capacity of celebrities to shape public belief. When celebrities’ epistemic authority exceeds that of the political institution they seek to represent, their image begins to set the party’s agenda rather than the other way around.
The transition from public prominence to public service has, in certain cases, been grounded in demonstrable civic engagement where a public figure has consistently used such a platform to address poverty, injustice, or governance issues.
What is categorically different is the celebrity who, having accumulated wealth and fame, discovers a political vocation only when a viable electoral opportunity presents itself. This distinction matters because motivation largely determines
conduct. Those already rich and famous often enter politics to obtain the kind of power that wealth and celebrity cannot purchase: the authority of the State over legislation, public resources, and so on.
Hero worship does lasting damage to the electorate’s capacity for independent judgment. When admiration hardens into devotion, the normal mechanisms of democratic accountability are suspended. Social media is complicit in this, trapping followers in closed circles where any criticism of their idol feels like a personal attack. Studies show that celebrity candidates win on name recognition alone, crowding out better-qualified but lesser-known rivals.
None of this diminishes the legitimate role that public figures can play in political life. What it does suggest is that the voter’s responsibility is not discharged by enthusiasm alone. Relevant scrutiny is what hero worship discourages. The fan club and the ballot box operate under different logic. Conflating them serves neither the voter nor the republic.
P. John J. Kennedy is former professor and dean, Christ University, Bengaluru