Ask yourself; would you normally take your philosophical cues from someone whose claim to fame was having a travel show? How about someone who took enough heroin to make William S. Burroughs blush? How deeply would you ponder life lessons about personal choice and living in the moment from someone who killed themselves after paying off a 17-year-old kid to keep quiet about being sexually assaulted by their girlfriend? Since you already know who I am talking about, I am sure some of you are still saying, “I would!” internally. But you are fooling yourself. Or, maybe, you just like taking advice from sub-par people. That is fine too, as there are nuggets of wisdom in everyone and everywhere. But let’s not pretend like this isn’t some sort of dopey, cultish hero worship born out of a group of dorks desperate for a cool friend.

I have the same feeling about people who hold Kerouac so closely to their hearts. Most of the time, it is either boring folk who have never left their front porch or ex-miscreants who like to wax nostalgic through the pen of a fellow traveler. Either way, I am not impressed, and neither should you be. We look for heroes all over the place now considering that society has decided to reduce the number of traditional role models for ersatz offenses and revisionist analyses. Naturally, our heroes now must fall within a new and ethereally structured set of criteria. The discursive nature of what is acceptable from day to day in the modern world makes it nearly impossible for a newly minted hero to maintain their status for very long. Probably a good thing. But one man who has, thus far, stood the test of time is Anthony Bourdain.

I was and am a fan. I loved No Reservations and I remember enjoying every single page of Kitchen Confidential. He was a talented chef, writer and TV presenter. I would have loved to have had a few drinks with the guy. I wish he was still alive. That being said, there is nothing profound about the man. He grew up wealthy, went to expensive schools and then became a drug-addled fry cook. Eventually, a drug-addled chef of some renown. Like most rich kids I know, he swayed towards left wing politics and a disdain for the richies of the world. This is usually either consciously or sub-consciously done as a big F U to their parents. It’s easy to bite the hands that fed you while safe and warm in a country that allows and, in some places, embraces and encourages that sort of laughably idiotic hubris. Mommy and daddy were rich, and you lived comfortably, therefore you must assume the mantle of the downtrodden and be the tip of the spear in the fight against the system that nurtured you. Get it? Got it. Awesome. A prolific writer, documentarian and chef, Bourdain was most certainly a talented man. However, it is not like he was the first guy to put a piece of meat in a pan. He wasn’t the first guy to decide to write about where he worked in a candid way, nor was the first person to do a travel show. However, if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he invented cooking, writing and travel by how idolized he is by a lot of people.

Is it the fact that he committed suicide that makes him so interesting and morbidly attractive? Hard to say, but we do have a tendency to marvel at folks who off themselves. I think it is because death is the only thing we all have in common in terms of a universal fear. So, when someone voluntarily jumps into what makes a lot of people the most afraid, it is intriguing to the human mind. Tragically sad, yet still intriguing. I say this as someone who recently lost a very close friend to suicide. I mention that in order to point out that I do not take this topic lightly, nor do I sneer at the dead. I wager that you can make the case that had ne not killed himself, the meme-o-sphere would not be nearly as replete with Bourdain’s image and quotes as it currently is.

In the end, I don’t begrudge anyone their Bourdain fancy. If you want to love the guy and live your life according to his “teachings” then go for it. But let’s at least stop pretending that he is a substitute for actual meaning in our lives. I wonder if anyone will ever ask his daughter whether or not she thinks it was awesome that her dad voluntarily left her life when she was 11 years old. Will someone ask her if she thinks her father’s philosophy on life is healthy? After all, wouldn’t she be in a better position to answer that question than the foodie with a bend towards wanderlust? Of course, the people that knew him and enjoyed him feel a connection to him and miss him. Personally, I just don’t see enough there in order to justify the pedestal of virtue some have put him on. I didn’t know the guy, obviously but I am willing to bet he’d agree.