There are a few people I hope never to meet. Beyoncé, Malala Yousafzai and Lewis Hamilton. Not because I don’t like them, but because I do.
If we were being honest with ourselves, we would confess to engaging in parasocial relationships in some form. It’s not chic or cool to say you care (perhaps too much) about a person whom you share very little in common with and have never met. But our tech-centric lives have allowed public figures to open virtual doors into what was once private and unknown territory.
However, in the case of these three, I hope to keep the door just that – virtual. Primarily due to my fear that I would be unable to articulate my appreciation for their work and wider social impact.
While most people immediately understand my reasoning for the first two, Hamilton always comes as a surprise. I am fully aware that when people picture a Formula One fan, they don’t imagine me. But like many sports lovers, my fandom was inherited.
I have a hazy memory of tiny cars circling the screen on the boxy TV in my Jamaican grandma’s living room. Clearer are the memories of my mum jumping around the kitchen cheering as Hamilton won yet another race during his glorious years at Mercedes. And now, watching a Lewis Hamilton race is not a casual event in my house, but a cherished ritual.
I never questioned why we all supported Lewis. He was always the obvious choice. There are only a few sports in the world where you can back, not just a great athlete, but arguably one of the best of all time.
He holds the record for the most wins, pole positions and podium finishes. He is tied with Michael Schumacher for the most driver’s world championships in Formula One history with seven apiece.
I should make it clear that while these stats are incredible, they are not the thing I find most impressive. Despite being a seven-time world champion, Hamilton is and always has been Formula One’s greatest underdog story. Where most drivers come from multi-million pound, and sometimes billion-pound households with connections in the motorsport world, Hamilton did not. Instead his dad worked multiple jobs for years, took out loans and even remortgaged his house to pay the bills required to start a career in Formula One. And yet, with only 20 to 22 spots available to the best drivers in the world, Hamilton managed to break through.
Over every hurdle and thinly veiled racism dressed as criticism, Lewis has persisted
Over every hurdle and thinly veiled racism dressed as criticism, Lewis has persisted
But on top of this, Hamilton is a black driver in Formula One. And he is also the first, and so far, the only one there has ever been.
Balancing preconceived assumptions about your character and abilities while also attempting to represent millions on one of the largest sporting stages in the world is a position I would not wish on anyone. But Hamilton has mastered the art of letting his talent speak for itself on the track, while also standing up for what he believes in outside of race weekends.
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He must have been tempted to stay quiet and avoid rocking the boat – but Hamilton’s actions are demonstrable proof that he rejects this idea. From his work with his charity Mission 44, that looks to empower young people and create opportunities for under-represented communities in motorsport, to his dedication to speaking out for the LGBTQIA+ and the global majority, he has tried to make a difference. Where some who have climbed to the top have looked to pull the ladder up behind them, he has shown that a ladder is not enough: the system must be reshaped and he was determined to do it.
Over every hurdle, libellous tabloid headline and thinly veiled racism dressed as criticism, Hamilton has persisted. Becoming the living embodiment of his tattoo and helmet, that reads: “Still I rise.”
So it should be no surprise that my small family, descended from Caribbean immigrants, living in a predominately white village in the north of England would be drawn to Lewis Hamilton. Generations raised on the mantra: “You have to work twice as hard, to get half as much.” And still we rise. Watching a black man enter an elitist sport and becoming not only great, but the greatest of all time is confirmation that, while privilege might get you far, the supremacy of talent and hard work can still win out.
So, yes, in this instance I can say that there are elements of a parasocial relationship, but this is entirely rooted in the joy of seeing someone like me and my mum and my grandmother not just overcome, but succeed.
Photography by AP Photo/Asanka Brendon Ratnayake