The obvious question that Wood's apology prompts is that of the necessity of the gesture. In considering the necessity of a public apology for a very public scandal, we're forced to confront the conflicting codes of celebrity morality. What is the nature of the commitment that we forge with celebrities? When celebrities act tactlessly, as Woods has, does he apologize because he proved himself for being unable to measure up to the image in the Gatorade commercial? Woods acknowledges the rupture between reality and fiction, a break that the media industry seeks to smooth over; in a sense, the act of apologizing is a potentially subversive one because it points to this inconsistency.
Of course, we also have to take into consideration that the apology was probably insisted on by Woods' publicist, which would account for his moronically robotic tone throughout the length of the speech. Buzz Bissinger, in his article on Woods for this month's Vanity Fair, calls his public persona that of a "non-human." This is precisely why Woods was so attractive in the first place, and why the last three months have been particularly trying on his public image. If Woods had displayed more personality, would that have somehow softened the blow? Or, as his populartiy before November suggests, is the quickest route towards stability in the cyclone of media power politics easier to navigate if you turn yourself into a "non-person"?
Can [Woods] blaspheme against his own public creation, his own unique role, as determined by his father, his management team and his shoe company? Can he blaspheme against the image coddled and nurtured by the paid evangelists of his own gospel?
And what would the blasphemy be? - Charles A. Pierce, GQ April 1997
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