Last week, Chrissy Teigen joined TikTok, and within a matter of hours she had 34,000 followers. Her first posts were characteristically endearing. "Am I doing this right?" asked Teigen in her second clip. "Does anyone use this like a normal thing, just like talking?" she asked in her third.
It's a stretch to believe that Teigen was really that clueless about TikTok before she joined.
For one thing, as she has previously been very forthcoming about, Teigen has plenty of staff. She has 13 million Twitter followers, so she knows social media.
Most of all, Teigen is a savvy entrepreneur, a model, TV presenter, cookbook writer, and has her own range of cookware that this month expanded hugely and is on sale in Target, where it reaches maximum shoppers at an affordable price.
Teigen is far from just John Legend's wife, though she happily plays that role, too. Teigen is the celebrity whom others must look upon and wonder just what she's doing right.
She doesn't hide her privilege and yet she gets away with it.
For example, earlier this month she asked her Twitter followers to share the "most expensive thing you've eaten that you thought sucked".
Her example was a bottle of €10,000 wine, recommended to her and Legend in a restaurant, which was so horrible they didn't even finish it.
There was a ripple of backlash, but nothing that could pierce her popularity.
Remarkably, in this time of Covid, where celebrity is suffering an emperor's-new-clothes-style savaging, Teigen is holding firm.
Actors are losing their grip on our interest as few new films are produced, giving them little opportunity to remind us of their existence and elevated value.
There's no way to stay on a pedestal if you're out of view, and they're all too scared to moan about their lot for fear of being cancelled as spoilt brats.
The problem for them has been that the Covid message of us all being in it together doesn't work when it comes out of a celebrity's mouth. This was evident right at the start of the pandemic, when Gal Gadot gathered up her celebrity friends for a montage rendition of Imagine.
It was a poorly chosen song, with its lyrics about 'no possessions' and celebs positing as everyone's-equal dreamers from the comfort of their mansions.
When Ellen DeGeneres soon after compared her plush surroundings to being in prison, she too felt the wrath of a world where 2m, 5km, WFH and simultaneously homeschooling left us far more confined than she was.
Since then celebrities such as Pharrell Williams have been promptly told to check their privilege when they've publicly exhorted people to donate to fund medical efforts.
'Go look in the mirror,' is the frequent response to any celebrity who dares imagine they're in the same boat as the general masses.
Long before Covid, however, there was a general bemoaning of the modern age making celebrities of people who had no traditional talent, but were possessed of a massive ability to self-promote.
It was widely lamented that we lavished attention on the likes of the Kardashians, whose star quality was pitching a chasm between their ostentatious wealth and consumerism, and the dead-ordinary lives of their followers.
The Kardashians were the leaders of the pack, but trailing in their wake were tiers of other celebs whose 'talent' was to influence (or boast) and encourage people to emulate their lifestyle and buy the products they promoted.
What Covid did to a lot of these people, the Kardashians included, was to cut off the flow of product-pushing.
In the absence of boasting about your excessive lifestyle and peddling products, what had they left?
Social media is littered with influencers great and small who have nothing left in their arsenal thanks to Covid.
On a micro, local level, there were many influencers whose status was driven by attendance at events and launches and whose content was hugely driven by products they received. Without the events, a whole arena of influence is gone.
Of course, many of the bigger celebrities have done themselves no favours with their behaviour through the pandemic.
Kim Kardashian's celebrations last October caused a stir when she headed to an exotic location for her 40th birthday.
"I surprised my closest inner circle with a trip to a private island where we could pretend things were normal," she told her 67 million followers, assuring them that quarantine and "multiple health screens" had been undertaken in advance. That made it OK. Not really.
Them and us doesn't really wash right now, as the Christmas sun-holiday set discovered to their cost. It's hard to know why the likes of Zara Holland, Chloe Ferry, Georgia Harrison and other reality TV stars thought anyone would applaud their holidays last month
Most ordinary people were not only trapped at home in the current lockdown, but probably didn't get a summer holiday last summer either.
The celebrity blind spot in spotting the difference between entertaining people with your privilege and making them feel bad by comparison was clearly in evidence and many of those celebs will find their currency lost, post-Covid.
Last week, as The New York Times documentary Framing Britney Spears caught fire, there was a hint at the kind of celebrity we're willing to get behind now and, possibly, in future.
Telling of Britney's rise to fame as a child and a young woman, the film charts how her adolescence and sexuality were considered fair game, how she spiralled into a very public breakdown and how, for the past 13 years, she has been under the legal control of her father.
It is, in some ways, a sad and sorry tale, but Britney is still standing, relatively unbroken by adversity, sassy on social media, making sure the show goes on.
She's a trouper and troupers are the kind of celebs we need right now.