All The Things You Feel When You Watch a Variety Show Starring Your Nemesis, Astronaut Chris Hadfield

Commander Chris Hadfield, the most famous Canadian astronaut of all time (non-William Shatner division), hosted a science-themed variety show in Toronto last week.

Having covered David Bowie's "Space Oddity" aboard the International Space Station in a YouTube video that's been viewed more than 26 million times and tweeted prolifically throughout his mission, Hadfield appears to have reached Space God-like status. He's written books, hosted global sing-alongs, and recorded an album—Space Sessions: Songs From a Tin Can, which was marketed as the first-ever "off the planet" record, though at least one review said otherwise. There's even talk of a sitcom based on Hadfield's life. He is so omnipresent, he's the Kim Kardashian of space. And frankly, that's why I can't stand him.

I had been wanting to write a takedown on Hadfield for months but my editor kept saying things like, "Have you been to space?"; "Have you recorded a music video?"; and "Have you recorded a music video in space?"

But with a variety show, here on Earth, it started to feel like Hadfield was getting closer to being Mr. Dressup for millennials, rather than a scientist of the final frontier.

Before I even got to the event, my friends' responses to news that I was covering it hinted that I wasn't the only one feeling like we'd reached Peak Hadfield. "He's such a media whore," several remarked, while one complained, "So sick of that guy."

Still, I wanted to figure out whether or not I was mad at the man himself or his portrayal in the media. Or was the problem that I'm just a hater. As it turns out, it's a mix of all three.

Generator, billed as a chance to take a "glimpse into the adventures of a real life Space Commander," included presentations from Hadfield, a data expert, a YouTube science star, a spoken-word poet, a comedian, a sketch duo, a bionic suit company, and Toronto indie band TWRP. It was emceed by BBC host Robin Ince. I am probably missing something, but my god, at the time even all that felt like more than enough.

Hadfield gave the opening remarks, walking us through his intro to space and peppering his speech with a few dad jokes—the B.F. Goodrich spacesuit stands for "bad fit," etc. Despite myself, I felt compelled by his descriptions of space.

"The raw, unstoppable completely optimistic and effortless beauty is what's filling your mind the whole time you're out there," he said. "You're not of the world, you're with the world."

The theme for the event, he noted, was inspiration.

What followed felt like the longest session of show-and-tell I'd ever sat through (three hours from start to finish). There was a painfully awkward sketch comedy scene in which two 20-something women pretend to be senior citizens drinking chamomile tea, and a poet who beatboxed and inexplicably rapped about iPods. Sprinkled into the night were a handful of presentations that were more or less TED Talks delivered with varying degrees of charisma. There were power points and graphs and an experiment with a trippy bike. And of course, Hadfield revived his role as Bowie lite, jumping on the guitar to play with TWRP during the intermission.

About two-thirds in, a baby let out a wail. A few audience members started giggling but I felt something much stronger: solidarity. That infant's screams were an audible manifestation of everything I was feeling inside, namely, boredom. Still, the show was sold out, and I had to wonder why, two years after Hadfield's greatest contribution—his space mission—we continue to obsess over him.

Last week, on Reddit, Hadfield said he'd recently received a media request about a science-related story that wasn't in his area of expertise (he's an engineer by training). Because he declined to do the interview, the story didn't run.

"That bit of science didn't make it to your ears, because they didn't have someone they trusted to explain it to their audience," he wrote.

The anecdote made me realize I'm just as annoyed at Hadfield for being a shameless self-promoter as I am with the media for eating it up. When you remove the literal song-and-dance element, the man is supposed to be a scientist, not a celebrity. It's OK to be both, but his fame shouldn't be coming at the expense of underreported, scientific stories. Maybe it speaks to a lack of unmuzzled Canadian science heroes, but it seems like Hadfield could mow his lawn and that would be bigger science news than say, the fact that bugs might soon destroy all of our trees.

In spite of all this, I realized I didn't hate Hadfield as much as I thought I would. I get that he's trying to make science fun for kids, an admirable goal, and I admit he's a pretty good public speaker. But it would be great if he used that voice to speak on more serious issues, as opposed to just singing Songs From a Tin Can.

Follow Manisha Krishnan on Twitter.