I turn over onto my side, rest my phone against a book on the bedside table, and insert the charger before deciding if it’s a Friends or The Office kind of night. This would be my nighttime routine for the best part of my life. This week, however, was different. My fingers would smooth over the image of Chandler and Joey every night, unable to commit to pressing play. And while I suspect millions have been binging their favorite Friends episodes, grieving their loss as only they know how to, I have avoided any further reminder that Matthew Perry is no longer with us.
Part of me feels unjustified – even silly – in saying this. I am reminded of the cynic’s response to celebrity death: “But you didn’t know them!” I question the legitimacy of my sadness.
Am I entitled to grieve a stranger?
Luckily, psychologists have rationalized this for us. We have created parasocial bonds with these celebrities. These might best be characterized as one-sided friendships. Even though we know these people are not our friends, they take on a very real role in our lives because we are continually exposed to them.
The collective mourning of Matthew Perry reassures me that my response is normal. The void is felt on a global scale by the loss of this man. A man we didn’t know but felt like we did. I recall various moments like this with other celebrities; Heath Ledger and Robin Williams were particularly tough.
The death of Matthew Perry, however, has been the most difficult to bear.
It would be in his role as Chandler Bing that I’d mourn him most. Chandler, alongside characters Monica, Rachel, Joey, Ross, and Phoebe, has become something akin to a lullaby for me for over two decades. Their jokes sing me to sleep most nights. For many others, they’ll have provided temporary relief from heartbreak, anxiety, and boredom since childhood. It has become the TV equivalent of comfort food, and, honestly, it’s hard to recall a time when Friends wasn’t part of our lives. Even though the show aired its final episode 20 years ago, it remains a firm favorite as a 2022 poll by YouTube TV concluded that it was “The Best TV Show Ever.”
The series’ longevity alone would play a massive part in our feelings of loss. Consider that you’re now a 30-something who grew up watching Friends. As you grew into your teens, Friends reruns would greet you after school. You’ll likely have had some box sets, too. As TV evolved, you’ll have had the luxury of playing the series on loop through Netflix. It has existed in some subtle way for most of your existence. Through nostalgic reflection, these people have become part of who we are. So, naturally, when they pass away, we can feel like we have lost a part of ourselves.
However, the loss of a Friends character is arguably even more complicated than this.
After all, the premise of the show is friendship. Essentially, we are presented with a group of people who repeatedly show themselves to be great friends to one another. While the show has come under scrutiny for its misrepresentation of complex themes and cultural biases, its portrayal of friendship created a legacy that would be hard to follow.
Chandler is no exception, showing himself as the friend we all wish we had (the locked-in-a-box scene springs to mind). Chandler is effortlessly funny. He is quick-witted and sarcastic. But beneath the guise of jokes there is an unease with himself, an insecurity we could all relate to.
At the heart of this tragedy, however, is a man who struggled – a man who never got his happy ending.
It is easy for us to synonymize these actors with their characters. In a way, we project what we need that person to be for us during influential moments of our lives, forgetting that they have an existence outside of our perceptions. We needed Chandler to be funny and charming for us. Meanwhile, Matthew Perry was leading a separate life dominated by addiction. It is hard for us to reconcile that someone so loved could be in so much pain.
“But when I die, as far as my so-called accomplishments go, it would be nice if Friends were listed far behind the things I did to try to help other people. I know it won’t happen, but it would be nice.”
Since his loss, more snippets of Matthew Perry’s personal life have surfaced. It was clear that he was proud of his work on Friends but that this wasn’t how he wanted to be remembered. I almost feel I have dishonored him in this narrative largely dedicated to Friends. But consider this, sweet Matthew: your influence is perhaps beyond what you imagined.
You were not just the funny guy on some 90s TV show. Your hand held onto ours as we panicked, as we cried, as we tossed and turned, as we tried to survive. You supported an entire generation through the highs and lows of most of their lives. You taught us how to be a good friend and, what’s more, you felt like a friend. A legacy we wish we could all claim after we are gone.
And while I may not be quite ready to hit the play button and will undoubtedly never feel the same again watching the opening montage of you and your friends playing carelessly at the water foundation, at least I know that you will always be there.
Feature Image via Flikr
