BY: DAIMAN TEER for THE SIMPLETON STAR
There is a distinct brand of celebrity that exists entirely on volume, audacity, and the utter exhaustion of the public. They do not possess original genius; they possess an aggressive, pushy stamina. They do not invent; they pillage. At the very summit of this mountain of manufactured talent sits Bette Midler—the ultimate monument to campy derivative theater and sanctimonious political posturing. On a good day, she is almost good enough to work a cruise ship.
To understand the career of Midler is to understand the art of the high-decibel copycat. From the very inception of her public life, she has never been an originator. She began her career vacuuming up the identities of far better, far more charismatic women who came before her. She ripped off the tight harmony and military charm of the Andrews Sisters, vacuumed up the bawdy, double-entendre swagger of Mae West, and blended it into a loud, grating vaudeville caricature. It is an act that relies entirely on a stereotypical, hyper-stylized, and frankly insulting level of sheer pushiness. It is a minstrel show of old Hollywood camp, designed to substitute genuine artistic depth with sheer, unadulterated racket.
Yet, for decades, a very specific, fiercely simplistic fanbase—largely comprised of aging camp devotees who mistake screeching for singing—has treated her like an American institution. They weep over “Wind Beneath My Wings,” a song that stands as the absolute zenith of audio cringe. It is a saccharine, corny, lyrically bankrupt piece of sonic torture played exclusively by and for people with the emotional maturity of a Hallmark card.
The reality of Midler’s true standing in the hierarchy of American talent was never more hilariously exposed than on the night of January 28, 1985, during the recording of We Are the World. Midler, carrying her signature nervy delusion, arrived at the studio clearly believing she belonged in the front row of the cultural pantheon. But a funny thing happens when real, generational talent walks into a room: the pretenders get exposed.
As the night wore on and the actual titans of music—the artists with genuine, unmistakable vocal genius—took the floor, Midler’s pushy bravado wasn’t enough to save her. Quincy Jones and the production team began the physical sorting process. Midler was quietly but systematically uncoupled from the prime real estate next to Bruce Springsteen. She was shuffled down the line, pushed farther and farther into the shadows, until she was finally banished to the absolute rear of the chorus next to La Toya Jackson. She wasn’t allowed a single solo note. No one wanted her at the microphone. She was reduced to background wallpaper, a historical footnote in a video where you have to squint just to find her.
In recent years, having run out of vintage acts to plagiarize, Midler has pivoted to her final form: the unhinged political moron. She uses her platform to blast out screeching, hyperpartisan diatribes that possess all the intellectual nuance of a Twitter bot. It is the predictable trajectory of a mimic who can no longer find a script to steal—she resorts to screaming at the culture at large, desperate for the spotlight that real talent naturally commands.
BIBLE VERSE:
“For there are many unruly and vain talkers and deceivers… Whose mouths must be stopped, who subvert whole houses, teaching things which they ought not, for filthy lucre’s sake.” — Titus 1:10-11
WHY I CHOSE THIS VERSE:
I chose this verse because it perfectly captures the essence of the loud, derivative talker who commands a massive platform based on vanity and deception rather than truth or original virtue. It serves as a reminder that a loud mouth and a pushy spirit do not equal a righteous or talented soul.
BRIEF PRAYER:
Almighty God, deliver our culture from the noise of vain pretenders and loud deceivers who seek to elevate themselves through mockery and imitation. Grant us the wisdom to value true, quiet merit over manufactured clamor. Amen.
