Watching “Bat Out of Hell: The Musical,” which opened off-Broadway Thursday, a realization hit me like an anvil: Meat Loaf used to be hugely famous.

His iconic voice and oversized personality made him a sensation in the 1970s and ’80s, and the singer’s “Bat Out of Hell” is the 33rd top-selling album of all time. He has performed at storied venues such as Madison Square Garden and Wembley Arena. Despite all that, if Meat Loaf started out now, he would not be allowed to loiter outside the gated community of celebrity, let alone partake. Why? In the prime of his career, he was in his 30s and overweight with long, greasy hair. Outrageous!

Such against-the-grain attributes wouldn’t be allowed in the entertainment industry of today, which has morphed into a collection of gorgeous young twenty-somethings celebrated more for their looks and youth than their unique eccentricities, life story or ability to, you know, entertain. Not hot? Then get lost. And my God is it boring.

The rise of Meat Loaf came before Instagram made it possible to become famous by flying to Mykonos and taking off your shirt. Now, we’d prefer our celebs resemble toned Von Trapps, have the personality of drywall and let their mediocre singing and acting be edited and Auto-Tuned into assembly-line mush. We’d rather drool and feel bad about ourselves than have a good time.

Here are some people I guarantee would end up waiters if they tried their luck at show business tomorrow: Elaine Stritch, Elton John, Rick Moranis, Gilda Radner, Rosie O’Donnell, Ethel Merman, Jackie Chan, Chris Farley, Andrea Boccelli, Liza Minnelli, Julianna Margulies and nearly all of Martin Scorsese’s friends. A young Diane Keaton might not even make the cut.

Timeless talent has been replaced with the china-doll likes of Shawn Mendes, a pretty musician who boasts 49.5 million Instagram followers and whose songs you can’t hum; Nick Jonas, best-known for his arms and marriage to Priyanka Chopra; the consistently average Chloë Grace Moretz; and the phosphorescent Emilia Clarke, who is only watchable when acting with dragons.

Physique-obsessed Broadway, too, would likely not make room for a Zero Mostel, Michael Crawford or a Patti LuPone anymore. Lately musculature has been prized above all else on the Great White Way, but washboard abs alone can’t sing the G5 in “A New Argentina” and the song ain’t called “If I Were a Buff Man.”

I know, I know — we’ve always had stunners onstage and screen. There’s nothing inherently wrong with being good looking, but it’s gotta be paired with panache. It’s almost disrespectful to mention today’s up-and-comers in the same breath as the sexy stars of yore such as Audrey Hepburn, Harrison Ford and Halle Berry.

This isn’t meant to be a touchy-feely push for inclusivity. I simply want to be electrified by performers’ personalities and have them hold my attention with their brilliance — not their Coachella photo. The truth is that in favoring Instagram followings and clear complexions over weirdness and genius, we’ve made the world a blander place.