Rankings have always existed. Who made the best film of the year? Who wrote the coolest book? Who ran the fastest? Who flipped burgers best? Who made the most peace in the world? And so on, and not all of them good.
Historically, rankings do two things.
The first is mostly useful to the person. Sure, being Olympic 100m champion brings in sponsors and money. But it’s the glory that’s being celebrated. By contrast, the Time list or the wonders of the world mainly serve to single people out and announce to the whole planet: “Look, these people are interesting”.
The more prestigious and recognised the prize, the bigger the consequences. A Nobel Prize, for instance, pays 11M Swedish kronor, or €950K, but above all it’s a huge achievement. That said, it often comes at the end of a career, unlike a Fields Medal, which often rewards younger researchers and opens the door to plenty of grant opportunities.
In culture, some prizes have a fast impact on sales. That’s often the case for films that win at Cannes (less so for the Césars, France’s Oscars, or the Oscars themselves, which come long after the films have left cinemas). In literature, France’s big book prizes, the Goncourt, the Renaudot or the Femina, are huge accelerators. On average, a Goncourt winner sells around 508K copies. And rarely fewer than 400K.
Because these rankings put a product or a person in the spotlight, they lend them credibility and so become a factor in people’s choices.
But are they actually reliable?