I am a hater.

The man I hate is famous, millions of subscribers famous. He makes entertaining (and, sometimes, thoughtful tech videos) on the internet. He is intelligent, funny and charismatic.

But, behind closed doors, the façade that is his personality slips away. And underneath he is a monster. There are stories about this man from the people who have been around him and worked with him. Stories about this man having a tantrum when a sponsor refused to gift him an absurdly costly item in addition to his payment, tickets, hotel stay and a generous per diem. He never stops screaming to the people who work for him. He belittles them. Cuts them down. He abuses everyone around him.

His abuse is prolific. It's not public. But it is prolific. People who know anyone tangential to the space he's in talk about their dealings with him. I have corresponded with him professionally. And that and so much more makes me hate him.

I still enjoy his content, but if people bring him up to me, I pass the word along that he is an unrepentant asshole of the worst stripe. The one who thinks his abuse makes the world a better place. But it really doesn't. Because he just makes videos on the internet.

–—

I am also a fan.

I am a fan of my friend. He is also famous. But I don't care that he's famous. I don't read nor see any of the things he is famous for. He is my friend first, and I value him for that. I value him for his kindness, honesty and ethics. I value him for saying thank you to his employees after every long day. But most of all, I value him for valuing other people fairly – and going above and beyond when necessary.

It's not that he doesn't has flaws, but it's that he is a fundamentally good person. He does stupid things sometimes. But I have seen him help other people. I have seen him get hurt while helping other people. I have also seen him continue helping others no matter the cost. It's just who he is. He is a bright spot in this universe, and I do critique the things he wants feedback on. Sometimes I re-write important documents for him, because that's not his forte. But I respect and admire him, and I don't think there's anything I can do that will make me stop respecting or admiring him.

His fame makes me hesitant to say more. His privacy matters to me. Because he is a good person intentionally bringing some good into this world. What he does matters, even at the smallest of scales. He matters.

I won't extend the same consideration to the person I hate.

–—

It is tempting to think that Paul's essay is for me, but it isn't. It's for the extremes of fame. And I have seen these extremes and he's right. These labels he wrote about are an important way to stay sane when you're so fucking famous that reuters measures your farts for clicks;

I love my fans, but no one ever puts a grasp
On the fact I've sacrificed everything I have
I never dreamt I'd get to the level that I'm at
This is wack, this is more than I ever coulda asked
Everywhere I go, a hat, a sweater hood or mask
What about math, how come I wasn't ever good at that?
It's like the boy in the bubble, who never could adapt
I'm trapped, if I could go back, I never woulda rapped
I sold my soul to the devil, I'll never get it back
I just wanna leave this game with level head intact
Imagine goin' from bein' a no-one to seein'
Everything blow up, and all you did was just grow up emceein'
It's fuckin' crazy, ‘cause all I wanted was to give Hailie
The life I never had, instead I forced us to live alienated