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LJ Idol, Topic 2: I Don't Care About Apathy
That's the rule and the warning and the challenge I live with every day; after all, it's what the Velvet Goldmine poster over my desk says, and it's over my desk because it speaks the truth.
I want to be famous, which, I suppose, sounds like one bit of assholery at 16 and entirely another over here at 36, but so be it. It's what I want and what I've always wanted, and I don't have a problem admitting that it's probably got some pretty miserable roots in being the ugly kid with crazy parents and a really sketchy grasp of the truth.
Becoming a star, however, is a real bitch. It's a bit like looking for an apartment in New York City -- you've got to always be doing it, which is pretty much what the poster is about. Some of this is just practical: writers need to write every day; actors need to act every day. Choreographers, singers, dancers, artists -- same deal. We've all got a charge. The second half of this is that you've got to market yourself every day: talk about your work, send out your headshot, make sure your contacts don't slip away from you lest it become obvious when you've got to beg a favor.
That's hard stuff, but it's also the obvious stuff. The poster isn't about the obvious stuff. The poster is about the art of seduction, and it's not just about seducing other people into believing you're a star. It's about seducing yourself.
If you want to be a star you've got to look your very best every day and walk like you've got a soundtrack. You've got to smile at nothing and smirk like you've got a secret. You've got to make best friends with your tailor, your dentist and the person that cuts your hair, and if you're traveling you better have cute luggage. Most importantly, though, every secret you spill? Better be calculated.
Feel tired yet? Yeah, me too. I suck at this shit. Completely. You don't want to know how often I leave the house with wet, uncombed hair or wearing clothes that had to pass the sniff test. I certainly haven't had a manicure in a decade, have a combative relationship with my dentist (he thinks I have an eating disorder, I keep trying to explain to him the reality of celiac disease), and last time I cut my hair I did it myself.
I do have very cute luggage, though. Bought it when I went to Australia, because I was going to be heading through LAX and you just never know. But more than that, my daydreams about Baz Luhrmann discovering me as I de-planed onto the tarmac in Sydney while wearing hideous giant sunglasses that made me look like an insect were a lot more fun if I had good luggage to go with the fantasy. So I bought good luggage. Already had the sunglasses.
The funny thing is, despite the fact that I'm supposed to care about all this stuff and spend a lot of time instead just not making the grade through some combination of apathy and obstinance, I've actually got a pretty good handle on what it's like to be a star. At least of a sort. After all, I'm one hell of a faker.
Plus, I've had a book published, and I've had a contract role in a film. I've been on a billboard, and I've done the whole freaky personal appearance thing, and as much as there is no reason for anyone to recognize me on the street ever, about once every six months someone will, because they saw me speak at a con or do a reading or remember that damn billboard. It's entirely fucking weird.
But more than that, in doing what I do, and in trying to do what I want to do, I've met and worked with people at all different levels of stardom in a host of industries. I've moderated panels featuring New York Times best-selling authors, groused with some ridiculously famous actors at the craft services table, and have studied with musicians and dancers who made it in their arts by changing the very shapes of them.
And what's amazing is how much like me they all are. Overworked. Injudicious. Outrageous. Shy. Brittle in their own skin. Larger than life. Wry and ten tons of trouble. Always dissatisfied. Still dreaming. Lazy. Completely unaware of their actual alcohol tolerance. Ambitious. Funny. Self-loathing. Ravenous. Surprisingly young. Old. Eccentric. Joyous. And always seriously in need of a good fucking manicure.
If you wanna be a star, you better behave like one. I believe it. Absolutely. But I don't care about my mantra as much as I should. And I don't care about the not caring either. Because the more I meet stars, the more I discover that's the trick. Be yourself with the dial on twelve and don't give a fuck.
I can do that. I do, do that, and if nothing else, it's easier and less embarrassing than cute luggage fantasies.
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