The gobsmacking anonymity of the situation

She was there on the cover of a magazine that sat on the filing cabinet that was next to the desk of a fellow worker yesterday. I recognised her face - it was one of those faces that, once you see it, you realise you have seen it a thousand times in other places accompanied by her name - but I still didn't remember her name. The magazine was one of those magazines that I don't read, but which typically carry on their cover the faces of actors or actresses that you instantly recognise, and carry within their covers the faces of other actors and actresses that you don't recognise, either. Sometimes, they also carry the names of actors and actresses that you remember, but you can't, for the life of you, attach to any particular face. They are then circulated to people all over the world, who read it and enjoy not remembering the names that are not mentioned, and not recognising the faces that are not photographed.

I guess that's what it means to be famous: people you don't recognise, and names you don't remember, appearing in magazines you don't read, full of stories you don't care about: anonymity, ubiquity, enormity.

O anonymous amorphous multinational allegedly sentient entity, I think I am indifferent about you.

UPDATE! - Oh look, the anonymous amorphous multinational allegedly sentient entities had a big awards ceremony, which I didn't watch.