I was having a typical morning. I woke up, brushed my teeth, showered and dressed. I was just headed out the door when I received a confusing text from my dad.
“Snape is dead.”
My first reaction was, “Well, duh.” Nagini killed him after his conversation about the Elder Wand’s true master with Lord Voldemort. A few minutes later, I realized he didn’t mean the infamous potions master, he meant the actor who played Severus Snape in the “Harry Potter” series — Alan Rickman.
Rickman’s death was the first celebrity death to which I’d ever given much thought. Snape was one of my favorite characters, and Rickman brought him to life unlike any other actor could have. I had followed Rickman’s successes off screen, and hurt and surprise flooded my now not-so-typical morning earlier this month.
The news came only days after the death of rock icon David Bowie, and in the wake of both passing, millions of people poured their grief onto social media. For a week, I couldn’t scroll through my Twitter feed without seeing lyrics to “Heroes” or the word “Always.”
I’ll admit, when I heard that David Bowie had died, I had almost no reaction whatsoever. I have a ragtag collection of his songs on a few of my playlists, but I never really knew much about him.
When people my age specifically embraced social media as a means of remembering him, I found myself rolling my eyes. Bowie was a part of generations past, and it seemed absurd that so many people were distraught over the loss of someone they’d never even met.
After comparing their reaction to my reaction to Alan Rickman’s death, I realized I probably owe those people an apology.
I didn’t post anything myself, but I liked almost every post I came across praising Alan Rickman and his accomplishments. You can bet I got a little teary eyed reading the tributes expressed by Rickman’s “Harry Potter” co-stars.
How could I be so upset about the death of Alan Rickman when only days earlier I was utterly unconcerned over the death of David Bowie? Logically speaking, they were both the same person to me. I’d never met either of them personally, and only knew them through their music or acting.
Why do normal people grieve for lost celebrities?
As it turns out, there’s actually a psychological term for this phenomenon. Dubbed “parasocial interaction” by sociologists Donald Horton and Richard Wohl in the ’50s, the theory says people grieve for celebrities because, whether we are aware of it or not, they become part of our lives as individuals and as a culture.
Often, it is only after a celebrity dies that we realize their full impact.
Both Bowie and Rickman shaped respective generations. My parents grew up listening to Bowie’s music — I grew up watching Rickman bring one of my favorite literary characters to life.
I never realized how Rickman is tied to my formative years. As a recurring figure of my adolescence, he shaped the way I felt about the “Harry Potter” movies and cultivated the magical world.
The fact that so many millennials publicly mourned his death shows the influence he had on an entire generation. The same can be said for Bowie and Generation X.
Celebrity deaths also call attention to our own mortality, especially in older generations. A millennial considering the death of Bowie or Rickman, who both died at age 69, would have a very different response than someone part of Generation X, whose members are approaching that age themselves.
If Bowie or Rickman won’t live forever, we regular people certainly won’t.
But Bowie and Rickman will live forever, in a sense, through the work they created.
Death calls attention to a celebrity’s merit as an artist. Just 10 minutes after the announcement of Bowie’s death, Spotify reported streaming of his music went up 2,700 percent from what was previously considered the normal amount.
On the other hand, death can also highlight the depth of human sorrow, given the circumstances surrounding a celeb’s passing.
Bowie and Rickman both died from cancer — another reminder that even the best of us are not removed from the threat of disease. Because they died from illness, they were almost universally sympathized with and praised.
But not all celebrities die from circumstances beyond their control after living relatively long lives.
In 2014, the apparent suicide of beloved actor Robin Williams shook the world. This came just a year after “Glee” star Cory Monteith was found dead in a Vancouver, Canada, hotel room from an apparent drug overdose.
There is often a more complex audience response in these cases. People grieve, but many also grumble. A suicide or drug overdose may elicit anger, resentment and frustration in fans, as opposed to the general sympathy that follows death from disease.
For people with underlying issues, such as depression or bipolar disorder, the death of a celebrity can shock them as much as the death of a family member. In an article for New York Magazine, writer Tim Murphy describes how one psychologist became increasingly fearful for a patient’s health after the death of Michael Jackson.
Celebrities can fill a void in our lives. Often, people form deep emotional connections with someone they watch on screen.
It’s a perfect relationship when you consider it. Because of the one-sided nature of a celebrity-fan relationship, the fan can perceive the celebrity in any way they want or need, as a means of bridging emotional gaps.
Yet people who grieve over celebrity deaths do not receive the same support system they would if they experienced the death of a family member or close friend.
Herein lies the benefit of social media. Nowadays, when everything is turned into a meme and people share BuzzFeed articles religiously, people can come together to grieve celebrities in a new way. Social media has essentially made it socially acceptable to be distraught over the death of someone you’ve never met.
The death of a celebrity doesn’t emotionally scar most people, but instead moves us to memorialize their work.
At Platform 9¾ in London, hundreds of Rickman fans placed flowers — lillies, in particular — and letters at the base of the wall to show their love for Severus Snape and Rickman’s work.
This is the merit in celebrity deaths. Death reminds us of the impact artists can have on generations, and it unites people over the power of the art they created.
I am upset over the death of Alan Rickman, but it has renewed my appreciation for his work. When I watch the “Harry Potter” movies now, it will be with an even deeper respect for his thriving legacy.
Only Rickman can send chills down my spine simply by uttering the words, “Turn to page 394,” and I will always admire him for it.
Write to Emily at [email protected]