It's weird doing red carpets; it's uncomfortable. But you can

In the words of Kirsten Dunst, “It’s weird doing red carpets; it’s uncomfortable. But you can have a sense of humor about it.”
At first, these words may seem like the passing thought of a weary actress, but within them lies the wisdom of one who has looked behind the curtain of glamour and seen its hollowness. Dunst, who grew up before the eyes of millions, speaks not only of the red carpet — that glittering symbol of fame — but of every moment in life where we are called to perform, to smile under the weight of expectation. Her reflection reminds us that the world’s stage, though dazzling, can also be uncomfortable, and that the only way to move through it with grace is with humor — the light of self-awareness that makes the unbearable bearable.

The red carpet is a modern ritual — a parade of beauty, poise, and illusion. Beneath its flashbulbs and applause lies a truth as old as humanity: the struggle between appearance and authenticity. It is the arena where the soul must wear its mask and pretend it is comfortable doing so. Dunst’s confession, “It’s weird,” is the quiet rebellion of honesty in a place built on artifice. For she acknowledges what so many fear to admit — that to be seen by all does not mean to be understood by any. The discomfort she speaks of is not merely the stiffness of heels or the glare of cameras, but the spiritual unease of living in a world that worships image more than essence.

And yet, she offers an antidote — humor. To have a “sense of humor about it” is to reclaim power from the absurdity of the performance. It is to laugh gently at the spectacle, to see through its seriousness, and thus to rise above it. The ancients, too, knew this secret. When Diogenes the Cynic saw the pomp of Alexander the Great, he did not bow. He laughed. And when Alexander asked if he could grant him anything, Diogenes simply said, “Yes — stand out of my sunlight.” His humor was not mockery, but freedom; it was the refusal to give the world more reverence than it deserved. So too does Dunst remind us that laughter is liberation — a shield against pretense, a way to remain human amidst the performance.

The discomfort she speaks of, however, belongs not only to actors and artists, but to all who must face the stage of judgment — whether in society, work, or daily life. Every person, at some point, walks their own red carpet: the interview, the presentation, the social event where one must appear confident, composed, and flawless. In these moments, we, too, feel the weight of being watched. And like Dunst, we may find it strange — for the soul was not made to be polished but to be present. To find humor in such moments is to soften their edges; it is to say, “This is awkward, but I am alive within it.”

Think of Charlie Chaplin, that master of the ridiculous, who transformed his own discomfort — poverty, rejection, insecurity — into laughter that moved the world. When the cameras rolled, he tripped, stumbled, and fell, but always rose again, smiling. His art was born from the very thing Dunst speaks of: the courage to meet life’s absurdities with humor rather than shame. Through laughter, Chaplin made peace with imperfection, turning discomfort into art and awkwardness into beauty.

So, too, must we learn to laugh — not to belittle, but to transcend. The sense of humor Dunst invokes is not a careless chuckle, but a deep, knowing laughter — the laughter of one who sees clearly and yet chooses grace. It is the laughter that frees the spirit from the burden of appearances. When we can smile at our own awkwardness, we loosen the chains of ego. When we can find joy in the absurdity of expectation, we rediscover the simplicity of being human.

Let this be the lesson, then: face the world’s stage with humility and humor. When life demands that you perform, do not lose yourself in the costume. Feel the discomfort, acknowledge it, but smile through it, for humor is the soul’s way of breathing in a stifled room. Do not take the spectacle too seriously — not the red carpets of fame, nor the smaller stages of daily life. For laughter is wisdom disguised as joy, and humility is the crown of those who can laugh at their own performance.

And so, dear listener, remember the quiet truth behind Kirsten Dunst’s words: “It’s weird doing red carpets; it’s uncomfortable. But you can have a sense of humor about it.” In this world of masks and mirrors, be the one who laughs gently, who sees clearly, who walks with ease even when the lights burn bright. For while glamour fades and applause dies, the one who carries humor in the heart walks forever free — serene amidst spectacle, and human amidst illusion.