We mythologize people precisely when they stop resisting.
The moment someone dies, they become easier to love because they stop surprising us with their contradictions. We get to choose which parts of them matter. Anthony Bourdain's new biopic works not by sanitizing him but by refusing to, showing the actual discomfort of knowing a flawed human at all—and that's exactly why people are watching it instead of looking away.
We mistake perfection for safety, when actually the opposite is true. A person who admits to being incomplete, afraid, or self-destructive feels more trustworthy than one who presents a curated whole. Bourdain's refusal to perform wellness is what made him necessary.
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But there's a cost to being honest about your own incoherence while alive. The world doesn't pay attention to people in process—it pays attention to finished products, to myth, to the settled story. Ted Lasso makes empathy feel possible only because it's scripted; Perseverance can drive itself on Mars because it doesn't second-guess its own route.
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This is why the next decade belongs to people and systems willing to be publicly incomplete. Everyone else will be competing in the posthumous hagiography business, which is to say the business of finally being useful only after you've stopped changing.