Does fame really come at the price of basic decency?

There’s a quiet assumption woven into modern fame: if you step into the spotlight, you surrender something fundamental. Privacy, yes, but also basic respect. It’s dressed up in a shrug and a cliché: “It’s the price of fame.”

But that phrase does more than explain behaviour; it excuses it. And in doing so, it shifts responsibility away from those who choose to harass and onto those who are simply visible in an industry that the public is enthralled with.

Actors, athletes, musicians - anyone whose work draws public attention - become, in the eyes of some, less like people and more like public property. Their performances, results, or appearances are treated as open invitations for commentary that often crosses a line. Criticism becomes personal. Disappointment turns into abuse. And somewhere along the way, empathy is stripped out of the interaction entirely.

Social media has intensified this dynamic. Distance creates boldness - a comment typed from behind a screen rarely feels as weighty as words spoken face-to-face. The result is a culture where people say things they would likely never say in person. Cruel remarks about appearance, vicious attacks, invasive speculation about private lives or things that would be considered stalking and harassment if it were aimed at a random member of the public. The humanity of the person on the receiving end gets lost in the scroll.

It happens to everyone in the spotlight, but women are on the receiving end of increasing sexual violent threats and abuse. We know this because, despite the danger, women online are naming and shaming, as they should.

What’s striking is how quickly the blame is redirected. When public figures speak out about harassment, the response is often not concern but correction: “You knew what you signed up for." It’s a subtle but powerful reframing. Instead of asking why people feel entitled to be abusive, the conversation becomes about whether the target should have expected it.

But choosing a career in the public eye does not constitute consent to mistreatment. An actor invites audiences to critique their work, not to dissect their personal life or appearance with cruelty. There is a difference between accountability and abuse, and that line is crossed far more often than we like to admit. Part of the issue lies in how we define “public" - visibility has been mistaken for accessibility. Just because someone’s work reaches millions doesn’t mean they are personally available to absorb unlimited commentary. The idea that fame creates an open channel for unfiltered opinion ignores a basic truth: public figures are still individuals with limits, emotions, and lives beyond what we see.

There’s also a collective element at play. Online, behaviour is contagious. When harsh criticism gains traction, it normalises a tone that others adopt and escalate. Pile-ons form quickly, and accountability dissolves into anonymity. In those moments, the individual voice feels small, but the cumulative impact is anything but.

Shifting this culture requires a change in where responsibility sits. Instead of normalising harassment as an unavoidable side effect of success, there needs to be a clearer set of expectations for public behaviour. Disagreement, critique, even frustration, these are all valid. Abuse is not. The distinction matters, and it should be enforced both socially and technologically.

It also requires a more honest conversation about empathy. The same audiences who celebrate resilience and vulnerability in public figures can, at times, contribute to the pressures that make those qualities so difficult to sustain. Recognising that contradiction is uncomfortable, but necessary.

The phrase “price of fame” persists because it’s convenient. It absolves individuals of responsibility and frames harm as inevitable.

But it doesn’t have to be. Public figures may live visible lives, but that visibility shouldn’t come at the cost of basic decency. Respect isn’t a privilege reserved for anonymity; it’s a standard that should apply to everyone, regardless of how many people are watching.