The case for… Celebrity wall calendars

Those who sneer at the celebrity wall calendar correctly identify its chief aspect: reverence. Worthy or not, here is a secular shrine. Personified upon it, qualities that light us up. Aphrodites like Sydney Sweeney, Sabrina Carpenter and Blackpink. Apollos like Ryan Gosling and Pedro Pascal modelling masculinities you search the earth for. Back in the day there was Peter Andre, David Beckham, the Mars-like figure of Eminem, or maybe you prefer lil’ smoothie Bruno Mars, the rough eloquence of Jamie Vardy’s feats and tweets, Martina Hingis, Fazer from N-Dubz… I don’t know. I don’t know you.

Neither does Fazer from N-Dubz. Honestly, not even Dappy knows you. Yet we fix their faces to the plaster, to cover our wound. Let my eyes fall on you, we say. Pull from me the empty hours.

Posters and social media are good ways to pin our idols, too. What makes a calendar different? It’s the marriage of our daily affairs and deep aspiration. If Tulisa from N-Dubz sits above July, witnessing my organisation of plumbers and deliveries and GP appointments, she’s a part of it. In a sense, I work for her. She’s the female boss, you know.

There’s longing in worship, and that is touching. If anyone should laugh at your Shakira or Shohei Ohtani calendar, understand they worship at the altar of their own superiority. Which is worse. If you need Elvis to oversee your days, giving you 12 blessings plus a cover shot, well hey. Anything to stop the walls from closing in.