Jeremy Corbyn doesn’t exist. Neither does Taylor Swift. Or Benedict Cumberbatch. And certainly not Margaret Thatcher.

It’s not exactly controversial, insightful or particularly #deep to say that celebrities are not the people we think they are. Fame requires a certain mask, whether deliberate or not. As much as someone in the public eye may try to appear ‘real’, a gulf between them and their public image will exist nonetheless. And when it comes to politicians, the idea of a public face becomes even more confusing and problematic.

I’ll confess: all of this came (as most things do) from a BuzzFeed quiz – ‘What per cent Blairite are you?’. Expecting to laugh off a low percentage, I was shocked to discover I was apparently “68 per cent Blairite”. And I was angry, at first. The label ‘Blairite’ is (more often than not) used as a weapon in attempt to silence the voices of the soft left (or the hard-but-not-as-hard-as-Jeremy-Corbyn left), as if being a ‘Blairite’ makes your opinions invalid. But, as the quiz suggested, getting “yelled at by both sides of the Great Corbyn Divide” is definitely something I have grown accustomed to.

The two-horse race we like to believe exists between Blairites and Corbynistas hinges on the idea that everyone in the Labour party can be neatly split into two categories, with no middle ground. But the middle ground, surely, makes up the majority of the party. The voices of Blairites and Corbynistas only seem so loud because they’re easier to quantify.

But really there’s no such thing as a Blairite or a Corbynista, just as there’s no such thing as Tony Blair or Jeremy Corbyn. Choosing to entirely base your political views around one person (or having others tell you to do so) only ends up blinding you to politics you actually disagree with. This isn’t following a politician, it’s projecting yourself onto them. They don’t exist. The Jeremy Corbyn people love isn’t real, he’s simply a reflection of those who love him. A criticism of Jeremy Corbyn shouldn’t be seen as a criticism of his supporters, and his supporters must not see a criticism of Corbyn as a criticism of them.

Basing your entire political ideology around a single person is reminiscent of the problems entrenched in fan culture. Corbynistas and Blarites are ‘fans’ in the way Cumberbitches/babes/collective or Swifties are. Being a fan becomes part of your identity, a way you project your sense of self. It’s an identity you choose. And while that can be fun, and can foster communities and friendships, it also leads to idealization, which creates barriers. Barriers between those in fan communities and out of them, between different fandoms, and most crucially, between the communities and the celebrity themselves. There is no dialogue in blind admiration.

It’s much easier to criticise a small band or an up-and-coming actor without it appearing malicious, because there’s usually a greater connection between them and their fan community. Reaching out to them can have an effect. Just as speaking to a local MP or party member, one not so in the public eye, allows for much greater communication. If a band is suddenly plunged into the spotlight, the gulf increases. A hundred or so Tweets a day can become a thousand, ten thousand. A politician suddenly thrust into the spotlight in the same way – Jeremy Corbyn going from a backbencher to leader of the Labour party being the prime example – experiences this similar jump. His fan base increased exponentially, but he became further removed from them. As fame increases, so does scrutiny, but it also becomes far easier to become idealised.

We must accept politicians don’t have to be perfect. A politician is never going to be perfect, just as a celebrity isn’t going to be – or any human being. We don’t have to choose between idealisation and complete hatred. Taylor Swift is a media darling one week, but after one bad Tweet suddenly the devil incarnate. It doesn’t have to be one or the other. This binary system only becomes more obvious in fan communities which revolve around ‘receipts’. If there’s anything we’ve learnt from ‘Your Fave is Problematic’, it’s that every fave is problematic. Everyone is problematic. Everyone is changing, in flux. A celebrity’s slightly homophobic Tweet from five years ago isn’t reason enough to boycott a film, especially if they now are advocating for LGBTQA+ charities. We don’t expect a local MP to be perfect, to perfectly represent our own views, so why do we expect it from the party leader?

We must not base our whole political sense of self on a single political figure. After all, they are only a person – just as a ‘Corbynista’ is only a person. Grouping ourselves and others so restrictively leads to the blocking of individual voices, making all Jeremy Corbyn supporters seem an unanimous collective – they are not, and it’s damaging to see them as one.

The Jeremy Corbyn you love or hate doesn’t exist. The Jeremy Corbyn I know and the one you know are different. We must find a way to criticise, to discuss and debate without it seeming a personal attack. Idealisation of a celebrity is never a good thing, but with a politician, it can be near terrifying.