A couple of weeks ago I was having dinner with the smart and funny Linda Holmes. Linda was in town to cover the TCA’s, an annual two-week tv critic lock-in that sounds like the television equivalent of your dad forcing you to smoke a carton of cigarettes in a closet. It was her last night, and we got together to talk all things.
About twenty minutes into our conversation, I looked up to catch a glimpse of Famous Hair. It was hair so famous I knew without even seeing the face attached to it, who was standing in front of me.
I’ve been around enough famous people now to confidently tell you that the hair of the famous is just different. It’s better. It’s amazing. Even when it’s supposed to be doing nothing, it’s doing something. It’s sitting on a recognizable head being even better than regular ‘ol boring strands of keratin.
Famous people smell good and famous people have better hair. I worked with Lauren Conrad a couple of years ago and yes, she’s young, that certainly helps, but she had incredible hair. Thick, shiny, perfect, beautiful hair. Her hair basically has its own website. Lauren Conrad has great hair and she smells fantastic. Ditto Alyssa Milano. Sofia Vergara.
After all these pretty ladies with their amazing heads (and more hello,sofia,istilldreamofyouinyourlowrisesweatpants), I have a lot of hair envy. I do not have famous hair. I have the hair of the hidden, the ones who stay inside and sit down a lot. The only uv rays my hair regularly soak in are the ones bouncing off my monitor.
ANYWAY. Back to dinner. I’m sitting in front of Linda but I catch the very corner, just the tiniest edge of Famous Hair. It’s blonde and a little wispy-spiky and does a great sweep away from her face. Her sweet, smiley face with her big eyes and it’s Amy Poehler. Amy Poehler is standing in front of me and she’s about to be seated next to me. The hostess is taking her to the table right next to us!
I accidentally launch into Fan Face. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but I instantly flared into Raging Fan Face. It looked exactly like this:
Minus the famous hair.
I realize I’m making Fan Face. I can feel the blood rushing against my cheeks. I know my eyebrows are way up in my hairline. I know that I am not hiding any kind of smile. I’m just staring at Amy Poehler and every part of my face is going
in a very not-cool sort of way, and without skipping a beat, Amy goes, “Or over there!” And she points at the opposite side of a giant load-bearing pillar from where I am sitting. Before I can even pull my face together, she’s gone. Hidden. Because she’s hiding. From me.
“Linda, I’m so sorry.”
“I knew it was someone good just by the look on your face.”
“You almost had dinner next to Amy Poehler, but now you will not.”
“It was a little worth it to see what I just saw.”
“I’m really sorry. This is somehow worse than the time I did that in front of Weezer.”
“Yeah. You aren’t good at this.”
“I’m not. It’s because I truly love them.”
“I’m sure they’re flattered.”
“Not as much as they’re frightened.”
“That may be true.”
I try to think of it as a good thing that I haven’t lost my Fan Face. That I’m still not jaded after all this time in this industry, where almost every day includes at least a tiny bit of rejection, or you hear a horrible story about pretty much every single one of your idols. And, look, sometimes I can just have a regular meeting and not lose my shit. I worked for months beside Alyssa Milano without even ONCE flashing my fan face while admitting, “You used to be my imaginary friend.” Do you know how difficult that was? It was very difficult!
See? I know when there are times you don’t say things! I can be cool around Alyssa Milano! But… not so cool around John Henson.
Maybe there’s a chance Amy’s request to switch tables was coincidental. Maybe she really did want to sit closer to the front door. I do think the odds are around the same likelihood that she was switching tables because OMG THAT’S PAMIE I CAN’T HANDLE, but still. It’s not all about me.
It’s all about THEM. And I love them.
Fortunately, this is only sometimes a problem. I can’t even tell you how many napkins have seen my Fan Face up close as I’ve tried to pull it together. People often hear stories like this one and say, “It’s a good thing you’ve never met Johnny Depp. You might actually explode.” I’ll have you know I have had a meeting at his company and I’ve sat in furniture he probably sat in and walked on floors he definitely walked on and sure, I haven’t washed any part of me since, but I kept it together. Mostly.
Does weeping in the parking lot count?