In 2011, I gave away most of my belongings and moved to New York City. I had spent 10 years writing about Ireland for Dow Jones and the Wall Street Journal, and when the country’s economy finally stabilized after the bottom had fallen out of both the housing market and the government’s finances I upped and left. Seduced by television shows like “Friends,” which celebrates its 25th anniversary Friday, I was ready to write a new chapter.
I had only ever visited New York, and I had an unrealistic and curated view of Manhattan life. I had consumed TV shows and movies (“The Last Days of Disco” and “Six Degrees of Separation”) set in New York. I, on the other hand, grew up in a place where no one forgot how the Irish survived the famine. The 1980s and early 1990s were also a dark period of sectarian violence in Northern Ireland, marked by an unending stream of terrorist attacks.
But there was also an aspirational Technicolor life on my childhood TV. We had four channels, and they were crammed with all of life’s parade: lavish soap operas, comedies where the characters’ problems were resolved in 30 minutes, and a story about a lovely lady and mother of three girls and stepmother to three boys in a house with seemingly one bathroom — plus, a live-in-housekeeper that middle-class Americans today could never afford.
Aniston was friendly, matching her reputation. She is one of those celebrities you never hear anything bad about. ‘You’re from Oireland!’ she said, doing a stage-Irish accent. It made me laugh.
It seemed like everyone in America was either middle class or upper middle class, unless they were filthy rich. By the time “Friends” arrived on my TV screen, I was sold. This was the land of Harvey Milk and money. I moved here for a new adventure, new challenges and, on a spiritual note, I believed there were wonderful friends waiting for me here — friends I had yet to meet. I have met many of those friends, and, eight years on, I can’t imagine not knowing them.
Something else happened six months after arriving in New York: I was invited by an Irish friend to be a plus-one at a charity dinner in Gramercy Park. I put on the tuxedo that I had worn throughout Ireland’s economic boom, known in Europe as the Celtic Tiger. As I stood around gabbing and sipping my drink, a friend said, “Jennifer Aniston just walked through the door.” This happens to all first-generation immigrants, right? What a nice introduction to New York!
I wangled my way through the guests, and, standing in the corner, there she was: Rachel Green, America’s girl next door. I had long stopped watching reruns of “Friends.” I liked the show when it was on the air, but lately critics say the whitewashed comedy hasn’t aged well. I feel about the “Friends” theme song the same way my Italian niece feels about the song from “Frozen.” I have listened to it so many times it makes me feel a little sick.
The people I watched on TV growing up, however, remain eternal stars. I was star-struck by Aniston. I appreciated the natural and self-deprecating nature of her comedy. Her performance in “Friends” never felt old. She was fully present. She never phoned it in. I also admired the way she navigated through a highly public divorce. She had dignity. I’m not saying this because she opens up to Oprah and is friends with Ellen, but she also appeared to have a spiritual approach to life.
I wish I could say the same for me in that moment. I introduced myself to Aniston and her friend: “I’m Quentin. I’m from Ireland.” Aniston was friendly, matching her reputation. She is one of those celebrities you never hear anything bad about. “You’re from Oireland!” she said, doing a stage-Irish accent. It made me laugh. We exchanged a few pleasantries and, thinking of the folks back home, I went in for the kill. “Could we get a photo?” Pause. “For my Facebook?”
Aniston struck me as the kind of person who had mastered the art of healthy boundaries. She is someone who is comfortable saying no. She didn’t need an out. Still, I had made it easy for her to wrap the conversation up. I had offered her an Irish exit on a tray in a giant steaming mug of coffee straight from Bewley’s in Dublin or, better yet, Central Perk. “I don’t do Facebook,” she replied. By mentioning social media, I had made a fatal mistake.
MarketWatch photo illustration/NBC A two-minute celebrity-fan fail has given me a lot to chew over on the 25th anniversary of “Friends.” Ultimately, I appreciated the graceful way Aniston said no. She Hollywood-smiled me away. There was no room for negotiation. I’m in bed by 10 p.m. and I’m at work by 8, and I have no complaints. I went back to my table and told the cringeworthy tale to my mates. I did not get a photo with my favorite Friend, but I did get something far more valuable.
I applied some humility to my burn, thanked Aniston and her friend for saying “hi” to my “hi,” and walked sideways like a lobster back to my table. Of course she doesn’t do Facebook, I realized. She, of all people, has had enough exposure to our society’s toxic media. Facebook “friends” giving her their precious thr’pence-worth on the latest development in her world is the last thing she needs in her life. Who in their right mind would open themselves up to more?
Well, 2.4 billion people around the globe, to be exact. That’s 2.4 billion people who want to stay connected, as Facebook FB, -0.11% Chief Executive Mark Zuckerberg likes to say. Or 2.4 billion people who like to present a happy, smug and frequently false version of their lives. Or 2.4 billion people who like to bounce around in their own echo chambers. Both Facebook and “Friends” offer us a sense of belonging and, for a few minutes or hours, they appear to deliver.
Facebook ‘friends’ giving Aniston their precious thr’pence-worth on the latest development in her world is the last thing she needs. Who in their right mind would open themselves up to more?
Too much screen time is bad for your health. Studies suggest there is a link between Facebook and depression and say lonely people share too much on Facebook. My Aniston photo would have been the 21st-century equivalent of first-generation immigrants who wear borrowed formal clothes, and send postcards home to make them look successful and wealthy. They say, “Look, mom — I made it!” At its best, Facebook allows me to stay in touch with friends and family.
I have never forgotten Aniston’s lesson in maintaining her privacy. She was way ahead of her time. Most people on social media experience peer pressure and contend with ill-judged comments from Facebook friends on a daily basis. When I shared an apartment in a Georgian building in Dublin with a college friend in my 20s, she gave three valuable pieces of advice for such situations, “Don’t respond. Don’t respond. Don’t respond.”
Aniston also taught me about the intersection of reality and celebrity culture. This was not a famous face brought into my life by the benevolent gods of New York City to bestow on me the realization that I made the right decision to move to New York. I was just another presumptuous schmo lumbering up to her to capture the moment. This actor, who waitressed on the Upper West Side where I now live before “Friends,” had likely rebuffed thousands before me.
My brief interaction with Aniston at a restaurant in Gramercy Park is a timely reminder that shiny, happy people who appear on our TVs and in movies are just like you and me. Aniston, to her credit, showed that the familiar strangers who might approach us in restaurants or on the street deserve the same respect, too. It’s also a reminder that the U.S. is a celebrity-obsessed culture and one in which the worlds of reality TV, tabloids, politics and economics collide.
“Friends” was a fantasy. It’s important not to forget that. Most people today probably know the “Friends” characters couldn’t have afforded to live in Monica (Courtney Cox) and Rachel’s spacious West Village loft apartment. In the second season viewers were told the apartment was rent-controlled and Monica inherited it from her grandmother. The monthly rent for a small two-bedroom hovered at $2,500 or less in 1994. Today, it costs $3,500, an increase of 40%.
America’s middle class has, in fact, been shrinking for years. The cost of maintaining our lifestyles, as seen on TV, has been overtaken by the cost of living. Household income was $52,942 in 1994, when “Friends” premiered. Last year, it was $63,179, an increase of 19%. Inflation has soared 73% over the same period. The Rembrandts’ “Friends” theme could be rewritten for 2019: I’ll be there for you. Will you be there for me when I retire?
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