Stephen Gately: The Weirdness of Celebrity Death

Everyday for the last ten years or so, there has been a part of my brain which has rested assured of Stephen Gately’s continued existence. Every morning I have woken up, and a subconscious part of me has been comfortable in the knowledge that that small bloke from Boyzone is somewhere, living and breathing, just like me. Indeed, this part of my brain (forged when I knew all the words to Barbie Girl and was still eager to buy the next Now That’s What I Call Music compilation) has become so used to its tacit acknowledgement of Gately’s sentient presence in this world, that when the news came of his death it took a great effort of will to rewire my decade old half-awareness of his aliveness. 

Ah yes, the odd feelings induced by celebrity death. Perhaps this is familiar to you: A few seconds of blinking disbelief, followed by a noise (‘Whuh?’), then silent acceptance, and finally the overwhelming urge to send a flurry of cathartic texts to half of your friends.

‘OMG did U hear Gately frm Boyzone is dead?’ Truly a 21st Century form of epitaph.