Celebrity narcissism is a renewable resource. It’s clean, it’s abundant, and it’s currently fueling the weirdest cross-promotional loop we’ve seen all quarter. We’re currently witnessing the collapse of the "lane." Chefs aren't just chefs anymore; they’re lifestyle moguls. Directors aren't just directors; they’re brand consultants. And in the middle of this Venn diagram of ego and high-end catering stands Vikas Khanna’s new film, Imaginary Rain.

It’s a title that sounds like a tech demo for a high-end GPU or perhaps a $40 candle you’d find in a Soho loft. But it’s a movie. A real one. Starring the legendary Shabana Azmi, no less. And because the modern attention economy demands a constant stream of high-status validation, we now have Farah Khan—the high priestess of Bollywood commercialism—stepping in to provide the pull-quote of the year.

She didn't call it a masterpiece. She didn't call it a triumph. She gave it "3 Michelin Stars."

Let’s sit with that for a second. It’s a cute pun. It’s also deeply stupid. It’s the kind of linguistic gymnastics that happens when the elite try to review each other's homework without sounding like they’re reading off a teleprompter. Imagine a film critic going to a high-end bistro, eating a $200 deconstructed lamb rack, and telling the chef it has "excellent pacing and a strong third act." You’d throw them out.

Khanna has spent years perfecting the art of the brand. He turned the kitchen into a stage, and now he’s turned the stage into a kitchen. Imaginary Rain is his attempt to prove that "aesthetic" is a universal language. But here’s the friction: filmmaking isn't a recipe. You can’t just buy the best ingredients—a prestige actress, a high-end cinematographer, a soulful soundtrack—and expect the souffle to rise.

The trade-off in these vanity projects is always the same. You get incredible technical specs. The film likely looks like it was shot through a layer of expensive silk. The color grading probably cost more than your first apartment. But beneath the "3 Michelin Star" glaze, is there any actual protein? Or is this just another 90-minute visual mood board designed to look good in 15-second clips on a smartphone screen?

Farah Khan’s endorsement isn't for the audience. It’s for the algorithm. It’s a signal to the industry that the "Chef-Director" pivot is officially sanctioned. It’s the ultimate "Coffee Shop" conversation—performative, loud, and slightly hollow. When you trade in metaphors like "Michelin Stars" for cinema, you aren't talking about the quality of the storytelling. You’re talking about the quality of the "vibe."

We’ve seen this movie before, figuratively if not literally. It’s the "prestige trap." A creator who has conquered one medium decides they’re a polymath. They have the capital. They have the connections. They have the Arri Alexa cameras that make everything look like a dream. But the logic of a professional kitchen—precision, hierarchy, repetition—often clashes with the messy, sprawling necessity of a good script. You can’t sous-vide a character arc.

The price tag for this kind of creative indulgence is high. Not just in terms of the budget, but in terms of what it does to the culture. When we stop using words like "compelling" or "flawed" and start using industry-adjacent jargon to describe art, we lose the plot. We’re treating movies like consumer products. Like a plate of pasta that’s "fine" as long as the lighting is right for the Instagram post.

Farah Khan knows this. She’s a veteran of the machine. Her "3 Michelin Stars" comment is a masterclass in saying something that sounds like praise but functions as marketing. It’s a closed loop. The chef makes a movie; the director gives it a food rating; the internet argues about it for forty-eight hours; the brand grows.

It’s all very professional. It’s all very sleek. It’s also a bit exhausting. We’re living in an era where everyone is a "creator," which usually means they’re just a very well-funded hobbyist with a publicist.

If we’re going to start rating films based on culinary standards, I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’m waiting for the first time a chef gets a "Best Supporting Actor" nod for how they handled a side of sea bass. Or maybe we just admit that the lines have blurred so much that the "stars" don't actually mean anything anymore.

Is the movie good? Who knows. But the plating is exquisite.

How long before we start judging a director's work by their caloric intake?