Last week, Oprah Winfrey announced on her daily show that she’d be leaving the daytime format in 2011 in order to concentrate on her OWN cable network—really, OWN, i.e. the Oprah Winfrey Network. It was an emotional moment—she hadn't wept so openly since Obama got the nomination back in August of 07 in Denver.
O is a media phenomenon, and no one does personal branding better than O.
I’d never heard of Winfrey until I saw her in The Color Purple. It wasn’t much later, as I recall, that she made the jump to a daytime talk show, competing with a lot of sleazy sensational stuff, and in the early years, her show wasn’t that much different. But then she left the sensational stuff behind, focused on her target audience, eschewed strongly political content, unlike Phil Donahue, and became a sensation , influencing an entire generation of women along the way.
Once, about 10 years ago, I was teaching a Freshman Composition class at a local university, and Gloria Steinem came to campus, and I made the class attend her lecture. Her rambling talk was, unfortunately, the same old stuff, not even rehashed from the 70s, and weirdly didn’t seem relevant; maybe part of it was that she’d just gotten married (yikes!) — I don’t know. And what’s more, the girls in the class had no idea who Steinem was.
So I asked them about the voice of feminism. Who did they listen to these days? From whence came their guidance as a woman in the 90s? Camille Paglia? Naomi Wolf? Deborah Tanner? Et al?
Oprah.
The Oprah Effect is pretty powerful. It has launched the careers of many, made millions for publishers and authors whose books have been endorsed by the Maven of Media.
Now, her announcement is generating a lot of buzz in the media. One aspect of all this hullabaloo that I find interesting, is what is becoming popular these days among media types: The Long Goodbye.
It’s a phrase that refers not only to a 70s Robert Altman movie, and to the twilight dying experience of Alzheimer’s patients, but to the recent trend of celebrities to announce a career change well in advance.
Jay Leno’s long goodbye lasted five years before Conan O’Brian took over. Producers will announce perhaps up to a year in advance when a long-running television series is going to air its final episode. Some shows die a sputtering death of awkward self-destruction such as The Sopranos.
I’ll get to the point by talking about, not the O Effect, but the gOd Effect, if you will. With the first Sunday of Advent approaching, we have an opportunity to remind ourselves that God—rather than announcing a long goodbye, or even a short one—when God, given our behavior, would surely be justified in doing so—instead announces The Long Hello.
It's the long heilsgeschichte, as we preachers are fond of saying, the incarnation, or coming of a Savior which was heralded centuries before … the light that would shine in darkness would come, a child would be born, a shoot of the branch of Jesse would spring forth, and so on.
As powerful as Oprah has been, and continues to be; as enormous the changes the diva of the divan has wrought; as inspirational as the O of ChicagO has been—nothing compares to the Babe of Bethlehem whose coming, whose “hello” we begin to acknowledge this Sunday.
It’s a trite comparison to be sure: Oprah and Jesus. And surely she would not make such a comparison, as did, for example, the Beatles who famously declared in the 60s that they were bigger even than Jesus.
I’m just saying that right now, the buzz is about Oprah’s long goodbye; but the real story is about God’s long hello.
That’s all.