Celebrity: Life’s a Beach

In the past five years, as reality shows have overtaken traditional programming with the enthusiasm — and, often, the charm — of garden weeds, we’ve seen “real” people replace one-dimensional television actors, the pool of the super-famous grow smaller and less accessible, and the rise of a new celebrity: the reality star.

Unlike actors, singers or dancers, reality stars aren’t famous for having a particular talent, but for having personality, moxie and, perhaps most important, willingness to show bare breasts. Often, reality stars are disposable — remember Puck? — but some stick, like Kelly Clarkson from American Idol, or Elisabeth Hasselbeck, who lost Survivor: Australia but became a host on The View. “When I came off of The Real World, we had a few offers,” says Glen Naessens, the crunchy Upper Dublin native from the second season of The Real World, which took place in Los Angeles. “But it was nothing like this. Ever since Survivor, kids have been making a living off of it. Someone like Gervase … well, he’s taken it to a whole new level.”

Reality stars work in the real world for the same reason they work on TV: They’re cheap, and they’re willing to do whatever it takes to make themselves famous. To advertisers, they’re attractive because they’re just like real celebrities, only there are more of them, and they’re willing to show up at a bar opening, product launch or charity event for less than scale. In short: The pool of celebrities is too small to accommodate our demand, so we’re manufacturing celebrities out of real people. Kind of like in Sweeney Todd, when Nellie Lovett runs out of sirloin and starts making meat pies out of human flesh.

“These people have the recognizability of Tom Cruise, but their price point is much lower,” says Marc Marcuse, who started Reel Management after his own stint on Average Joe, and now claims a roster of 130 reality TV “stars,” including Gervase, that he books on everything from cross-country bar crawls to Battle of the Network Reality Stars.

For such a person, this kind of work can add up to a nice chunk of change: Philly’s Heidi Bressler, the shrew from the first season of The Apprentice, isn’t making the salary of a Hollywood movie star by doing speaking engagements, but she’s said she’s making more than she ever did for Qwest Communications. For someone like Gervase — who grew up, he says, wanting to be an “entertainer,” who’s funny but not funny enough to be a proper comedian, who can’t sing, and who ain’t, in his words, no Brad Pitt — the stardom is a boon. He won’t say how much he’s making — who knows to what alliance the folks at the IRS belong? — but this year, we can safely estimate, he’ll clear well over six figures.

Gervase Peterson, sitting cheerfully here at Chuck E. Cheese’s with his soda, is the embodiment of the current zeitgeist: this rise of the personal brand as a business tool, the growth of celebrity obsession, and America’s transition from a labor-and-idea-based economy to one that’s increasingly based on hype: guerrilla marketing, hedge funds, Gervase. He’s a living, breathing pyramid scheme.

“I made a lot of money doing nothing,” he says. “Now, I just want to do more nothing. I get paid to be myself. How cool is that?”