The Kardashians can be famous for being famous. What do they do?

Host: The neon lights of a late-night diner flickered just enough to make the chrome fixtures look like ghosts from another time. The rain outside turned the pavement into a dark mirror, reflecting the blurred headlights of passing cars. Somewhere, a jukebox played a song that nobody had chosen — the kind of melancholy melody that plays in empty rooms because silence feels too honest.

At a corner booth, Jack stirred his black coffee, his tie loosened, eyes fixed on the muted television above the counter. On-screen, a red carpet event played — flashes of cameras, shimmering gowns, a glittering world that looked both fake and strangely sacred.

Across from him, Jeeny slid into the booth, rain still clinging to her hair, her eyes alive with that curious mix of empathy and sharpness that could cut through illusion.

The TV flickered again, and a line of text scrolled across the bottom:
“The Kardashians can be famous for being famous. What do they do? I can’t figure it out.” — Larry King

Jeeny: (glancing at the TV) “You ever think about how that question became the heartbeat of our century?”

Host: Her voice carried equal parts amusement and fatigue — the sound of someone who’d watched society turn celebrity into currency.

Jack: (smirking) “Yeah. Larry asked it like it was rhetorical. But it’s not, is it? It’s existential.”

Jeeny: “You mean philosophical?”

Jack: “No. Tragic.”

Host: He leaned back, letting the coffee steam rise between them, a small veil of reality separating two people dissecting the theater of fame.

Jeeny: “They do something, though. They reflect us. The audience is the product. We don’t watch them because they’re interesting — we watch them because they watch themselves without shame.”

Jack: “You sound like a cultural anthropologist.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “And you sound like someone who still thinks fame should be earned.”

Jack: “Shouldn’t it be?”

Jeeny: “By what metric? Talent? Work? Genius? The Kardashians proved you can build an empire from attention alone. They industrialized curiosity. That’s a skill — a dark one, but still.”

Host: A waitress passed by, dropping off napkins and refilling the cups. The rain beat harder now, making the world outside look pixelated, like reality buffering.

Jack: “But what does that say about us? About a culture that rewards self-display over substance?”

Jeeny: “It says we’re lonely. That we’ve replaced connection with consumption. We don’t want truth anymore — we want distraction that looks like honesty.”

Jack: “So, voyeurism as comfort?”

Jeeny: “Exactly. We live through them because it’s safer than living through ourselves.”

Host: The jukebox changed songs — a slow, wistful tune about wanting to be remembered. The irony wasn’t lost on either of them.

Jack: (sighing) “Larry King didn’t understand them because he came from a time when fame followed achievement. Now achievement follows virality.”

Jeeny: “Fame used to be the echo of greatness. Now it’s the echo of visibility.”

Jack: “And the louder the echo, the emptier the room.”

Host: Jeeny looked out the window, the rain turning her reflection into something abstract — recognizable, but fading at the edges.

Jeeny: “You know, it’s easy to mock them. But I think that’s lazy. The Kardashians didn’t invent the hunger for fame — they just perfected the recipe.”

Jack: “You mean they figured out how to monetize attention?”

Jeeny: “No — they figured out how to manufacture intimacy. They let the world feel like it’s sitting at their kitchen table. They sell access, not art.”

Jack: “Access without substance.”

Jeeny: “And we confuse proximity with meaning.”

Host: The hum of the diner grew softer as the few remaining customers left. Outside, a billboard glowed across the street — a perfume ad featuring one of the sisters, her gaze vacant yet magnetic, the tagline beneath reading: “Be Seen.”

Jack: “That’s it, isn’t it? The whole culture distilled into two words: Be seen. Not be true, not be good, not be useful. Just seen.”

Jeeny: “Visibility has become morality. If people are watching, you must matter.”

Jack: “Even if there’s nothing to watch.”

Jeeny: “Especially if there’s nothing to watch. Emptiness is easier to project onto.”

Host: Jack chuckled softly — not out of humor, but recognition.

Jack: “You ever wonder if the Kardashians are mirrors we built for ourselves? Reflecting our obsession with image, control, fantasy?”

Jeeny: “Of course they are. They’re our collective diary — filtered, airbrushed, profitable. Every post is a confession disguised as confidence.”

Jack: “And we eat it up.”

Jeeny: “Because we’ve forgotten how to look inward.”

Host: The light from the TV flickered again, showing footage of paparazzi flashes — the chaotic ballet of fame in real time.

Jack: “You know what’s ironic? Larry King spent decades trying to get people to say something real on air. And here comes a generation that’s famous for saying nothing — and somehow it’s more powerful.”

Jeeny: “Because silence leaves space for projection. They don’t tell us who they are — we fill in the blanks with our desires.”

Jack: “So they’re not celebrities. They’re screens.”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Host: A pause. The coffee had gone cold. The rain began to slow, tapering off into quiet drops.

Jeeny: “But here’s the thing, Jack — for all our criticism, they figured something out. How to survive in a world where attention is the new oxygen. They breathe it better than anyone.”

Jack: “Maybe. But at what cost?”

Jeeny: “That’s the question no one wants to ask — because the answer would sound too familiar.”

Host: She looked up at him then — her eyes sharp, unflinching.

Jeeny: “We envy them because they turned what we all secretly crave — validation — into an empire. But envy is just admiration that can’t admit it.”

Jack: “You’re saying we made them.”

Jeeny: “Of course we did. Every click, every scroll, every sigh of boredom that turns into a view — it’s all a brick in their palace.”

Host: He leaned back, watching her, as the last note from the jukebox faded into silence.

Jack: “Maybe that’s what Larry King couldn’t figure out. He kept asking what do they do? when the real question was what do we do to need them so much?”

Jeeny: (softly) “We keep watching.”

Host: The waitress turned off the lights one by one, leaving only the glow of the neon sign outside — Open 24 Hours, flickering faintly like a promise and a warning.

Jack took one last sip of his cold coffee and stood.

Jack: “You know, fame used to mean legacy. Now it just means presence. And presence is cheaper than ever.”

Jeeny: “And emptier.”

Host: They walked to the door. The rain had stopped, leaving the street shimmering with reflections of red and gold.

Jeeny paused before stepping out.

Jeeny: “You think they’ll still matter in fifty years?”

Jack: (after a long pause) “Only if we still mistake attention for meaning.”

Host: She smiled faintly, the kind of smile that understands both the futility and fascination of modern life.

As they stepped out into the quiet street, the diner’s neon light blinked once more behind them — fading slowly into the night.

And somewhere between the echoes of their footsteps and the hum of the empty road, Larry King’s question hung in the air like a riddle that refused to die:

What do they do?

Perhaps nothing.
Perhaps everything.

Because in a world obsessed with visibility,
even nothing — when seen by enough people —
becomes something.