The Unfortunate History of the Autograph

Recently, I finally realized one of my life-long dreams- to have a book published. While it has been exciting, there was one unfortunate by-product I had not anticipated: Autographs. Nothing feels more sickingly self-indulgent than signing a copy of my book. First, the book is by no means a masterpiece. Second, I am by NO means a master. I found the process painfully uncomfortable.

While I won't o so far as to say that the autograph is pure evil (as that would be more of a reflection of my own insecurity), it is at best a mixed blessings. It could be argued that the objectification of art- when it lost its integrated place in the very fabric of our lives- came hand in hand with when artist began to sign their works. Now, an unsigned masterpiece by a great artist won't have equivalent value as a mediocre signed piece by the same artist.

Then again, autographs of a sort are celebrated on historical documents, such as the American Declaration of Independence. In fact, they are so famous, that one of the signatured names have become synonymous with autographs in general- John Hancock.

With the dawn of the celebrity culture, autographs have went from prized possession whose value is determined by the possessors love for it to pricey commodities that are sought after for cash value alone.

So, while it is truly just semantics, I will gladly personalize a copy of my book (and even then grudgingly), but balk at any request for an autograph. Then again, perhaps I am being anal.