When an Indian tycoon recently asked the press to leave his family alone, the request seemed reasonable. Yet, almost simultaneously, his wife was being named on influential global lists, and his daughter was arriving at the Met Gala in an India-first look. In an age of spectacle, can a public platform possibly remain private?
This year's most compulsively-consumed love story arrived just in time for Valentine's Day, when David and Victoria Beckham were photographed hand in hand, even as their eldest son Brooklyn aired grievances through tabloids about the couple's controlling behaviour and prioritising 'Brand Beckham' over his marriage.
Also Read: At Met Gala, it’s an India Inc takeover
The images travelled quickly, not because they revealed anything new about marriage or even children, but because they activated something familiar. Everyone knows them. Everyone has an opinion. Everyone is watching.
Bollywood offers its own lineage of meaning. Amitabh and Jaya Bachchan once represented duty and continuity within a modern marriage. Shah Rukh and Gauri Khan embodied youthful rebellion and romance. Ranveer Singh and Deepika Padukone came to symbolise a carefully balanced equality: expressive masculinity meeting unapologetic female ambition. Alia Bhatt and Ranbir Kapoor represent something more telling of the times: inheritance. Their appeal lies as much in recognition as in fantasy.
The global fixation on nepo kids begins to make sense in this context. From Meghan Markle normalising her title of 'her royal highness' in private life despite announcing in 2020 that she and her husband Harry would step back from royal duties, to Gwyneth Paltrow defending nepotism, celebrity inheritance has entered open conversation. Whether it's Brooklyn Beckham's tabloid-fuelled family rupture, Aryan Khan receiving industry validation despite criticism, Ira Khan being publicly scrutinised for simply occupying space, the children of famous parents now form a distinct celebrity category.
This category extends across industries and geographies. Isha Ambani is a constant on global red carpets, and this year, Padmanabhan Singh, the titular 'maharaja' of Jaipur, made his debut at the Met Gala with his wife. They are discussed, dissected, defended, and dismissed as a type -often with, and sometimes without, their consent.
Also Read: Met Gala 2026 dress code, guest list: Beyoncé to Nicole Kidman, full list of celebrities, fashion designers, show stoppers on Monday night gala event
What is new in this post-celebrity moment is not that nepotism exists. It always has. What's new is that it no longer provokes the same kind of indignation. Nepo kids now occupy a cultural enclosure of their own. We are no longer threatened by privilege. Instead, these figures function as familiar constants.
This shift aligns with Cambridge Dictionary's word of the year: parasocial. The term describes one-sided emotional relationships with public figures--connections that feel intimate, but are never reciprocal. It captures how audiences engage with fame today: not by observing from a distance, but by emotionally inhabiting these lives.
Gossip, long recognised by social scientists as a tool for social bonding, was never trivial. It helped communities establish shared values and boundaries. What has changed is its scale and function. In a fragmented world, celebrity gossip now provides one of the last remaining collective experiences. In this landscape, the 'ugliness' of nepotism is domesticated into the idea of the 'nepo kid' and made palatable.
Digital life has fractured the 'we'. Algorithms personalise everything--news, politics, humour, outrage... There is no longer a shared front page, or a common cultural rhythm. As loneliness deepens and public life thins, celebrity families become one of the few remaining shared reference points. The parasocial audience does not seek glamour as much as it seeks reassurance. A familiar surname offers narrative stability, the sense that the story will continue, that the characters are already known.
Celebrity culture may have peaked, but its function has shifted. Celebrities are no longer distant figures of glamour and hierarchy, but emotionally accessible avatars appearing daily on Instagram, narrating divorces, breakdowns, recoveries and reinventions. We may disagree on almost everything else, but we are still watching the same wedding, the same meltdown, the same apology, the same family drama.
Aspiration has been democratised, connection has not. Celebrity no longer promises transformation, but offers something, perhaps, more necessary for the times: reassurance that the story will go on.
This year's most compulsively-consumed love story arrived just in time for Valentine's Day, when David and Victoria Beckham were photographed hand in hand, even as their eldest son Brooklyn aired grievances through tabloids about the couple's controlling behaviour and prioritising 'Brand Beckham' over his marriage.
Also Read: At Met Gala, it’s an India Inc takeover
The images travelled quickly, not because they revealed anything new about marriage or even children, but because they activated something familiar. Everyone knows them. Everyone has an opinion. Everyone is watching.
Bollywood offers its own lineage of meaning. Amitabh and Jaya Bachchan once represented duty and continuity within a modern marriage. Shah Rukh and Gauri Khan embodied youthful rebellion and romance. Ranveer Singh and Deepika Padukone came to symbolise a carefully balanced equality: expressive masculinity meeting unapologetic female ambition. Alia Bhatt and Ranbir Kapoor represent something more telling of the times: inheritance. Their appeal lies as much in recognition as in fantasy.
The global fixation on nepo kids begins to make sense in this context. From Meghan Markle normalising her title of 'her royal highness' in private life despite announcing in 2020 that she and her husband Harry would step back from royal duties, to Gwyneth Paltrow defending nepotism, celebrity inheritance has entered open conversation. Whether it's Brooklyn Beckham's tabloid-fuelled family rupture, Aryan Khan receiving industry validation despite criticism, Ira Khan being publicly scrutinised for simply occupying space, the children of famous parents now form a distinct celebrity category.
This category extends across industries and geographies. Isha Ambani is a constant on global red carpets, and this year, Padmanabhan Singh, the titular 'maharaja' of Jaipur, made his debut at the Met Gala with his wife. They are discussed, dissected, defended, and dismissed as a type -often with, and sometimes without, their consent.
Also Read: Met Gala 2026 dress code, guest list: Beyoncé to Nicole Kidman, full list of celebrities, fashion designers, show stoppers on Monday night gala event
What is new in this post-celebrity moment is not that nepotism exists. It always has. What's new is that it no longer provokes the same kind of indignation. Nepo kids now occupy a cultural enclosure of their own. We are no longer threatened by privilege. Instead, these figures function as familiar constants.
This shift aligns with Cambridge Dictionary's word of the year: parasocial. The term describes one-sided emotional relationships with public figures--connections that feel intimate, but are never reciprocal. It captures how audiences engage with fame today: not by observing from a distance, but by emotionally inhabiting these lives.
Gossip, long recognised by social scientists as a tool for social bonding, was never trivial. It helped communities establish shared values and boundaries. What has changed is its scale and function. In a fragmented world, celebrity gossip now provides one of the last remaining collective experiences. In this landscape, the 'ugliness' of nepotism is domesticated into the idea of the 'nepo kid' and made palatable.
Digital life has fractured the 'we'. Algorithms personalise everything--news, politics, humour, outrage... There is no longer a shared front page, or a common cultural rhythm. As loneliness deepens and public life thins, celebrity families become one of the few remaining shared reference points. The parasocial audience does not seek glamour as much as it seeks reassurance. A familiar surname offers narrative stability, the sense that the story will continue, that the characters are already known.
Celebrity culture may have peaked, but its function has shifted. Celebrities are no longer distant figures of glamour and hierarchy, but emotionally accessible avatars appearing daily on Instagram, narrating divorces, breakdowns, recoveries and reinventions. We may disagree on almost everything else, but we are still watching the same wedding, the same meltdown, the same apology, the same family drama.
Aspiration has been democratised, connection has not. Celebrity no longer promises transformation, but offers something, perhaps, more necessary for the times: reassurance that the story will go on.
(Disclaimer: The opinions expressed in this column are that of the writer. The facts and opinions expressed here do not reflect the views of www.economictimes.com.)
