“Oh my goodness, I got it!
Honestly, I didn’t want to say anything but this has been bothering me
the whole flight. I finally figured out
who you look like! You’re not going to believe this, but…well, actually, wait a
minute… my husband will definitely agree.
Michael! Michael!!” Michael
was sitting in the middle seat and now slowly pulling out his ear buds, discreetly
sighing while licking and then pursing his lips. It was as if he needed a few more seconds to
decide which direction to take. Right,
into saying he was annoyed or left to smile at a complete stranger. Michael wisely chose left, and this meant
both were intently staring at me. “You
see it too, right, honey? It’s just unbelievable. Oh my God. YOU know who I’m gonna say, right
Michael?” They both nodded in agreement
then turned back to me in choreographed unison:
“You look JUST like…”
This spectacle of illusion seems based merely on small
things. Maybe just a few features or
gestures we may share. It’s as if
people’s brains seem to latch onto one part of someone they see, and then
neurons fire and snap their way to find an instantaneous memory match. While my curly hair, long neck, front teeth,
hips, and close set eyes make for a great caricature, I guess each on their own
connects us to thousands. Put a few
together and you’ve got a winner! Or, an
inappropriate moment of profiling.
We were on a plane from Iceland to Boston with this friendly
woman in the window seat leaning half way across her husband’s lap, beseeching me
to agree about her new found doppelgänger.
This turn of events was awkward.
We were already in astoundingly close range with absolutely no leg room
to spare.
I hate those weird, intimate moments when strangers have
their faces too close to you and everyone pretends it’s perfectly ok. It’s like that creepy moment in the dentist
chair when the tools are in your mouth but her face is air-grazing yours as she
works. Or even worse, when during your eye exam you can feel your optometrist
breathing on your cheekbone. We seem to socialize
and accept this awkward, public arrangement, but it’s just not something I
figured in while flying in the friendly skies. Perhaps it’s possible this awkward phenomenon
of public trust is centered on leaning back in chairs. At an altitude of a gazillion somewhere over
the Atlantic, here was this married couple gawking at my every feature
discerning how familiar I look. To be
honest, I’m sort of used to it.
I have a very unique name as a woman but apparently people
think I am lots of other people. It’s been
the same, few famous people, for decades now. What’s funny is there seems to be a local
version and the famous versions. Locally,
people stop me all the time to ask if I am “Toni” or confuse me with her in
public settings. Ironically, Toni
happens to be yet another woman here where I live with a man’s name but also a well-known
non-profit agency director with a very public, community persona. There is truly
nothing about us that really look
alike. Trust me. For the life of me I can’t see what they see,
but it has been happening to me for over twenty years now, so some part of it
must be true. I doubt she has ever been
asked if she is Darrell Stone, so there you go.
Any level of fame trumps everyday no matter where you live.
One time I walked in late to attend a local conference, this
woman came running over to me and grabbed my arm. “Oh, we are so glad you are here! We thought you forgot. Let me escort you right in!” I was very impressed with their warm welcome. Then I realized she was escorting me quickly to
the stage to speak to the hundreds attending.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I think you are confusing me with someone
else. I am not your speaker! I am just
here to attend, really.” My babbling was
confusing her but I was merely also trying to buy time. “No, no, no, I am not your speaker!” By now she was leading me and we were climbing
the three stairs up to the stage. The
audience was beginning to stop talking and any minute the lights were going to
dim. I was panicking, wondering if maybe
I had lost my mind and forgotten that I had actually been booked as their
speaker. “No, I’d know you anywhere,
Toni! You’re so funny!” she said as if I had been joking the entire time. So, after I helped her understand the joke was
on her, she quickly let me go back to find my own seat, unescorted. What we did
have in common was our haircut and our style of dress. Same curly hair, same style and the pièce de résistance is that we are both from
the east coast. I have learned that lots
of people in the Midwest can‘t tell the difference between a New York and
Boston accent, as it’s all just east coast fast to them.
My more famous doppelgängers seems to vary and are consistently one
of three. It’s become a game for me to
see if I can figure out which artistic lens they use – music, movie or theatre
– before they reveal the famous person’s name.
“I bet you have no idea who I am going to say you look like, do you?
She’s a singer and an actress…”
baited my plane neighbor in a sing-songy voice. “Actually, I bet I do.” Her face dropped, so I kindly added, “But, go
on – ohhhhh, this is fun!” She rallied with a smile. I now put my book away as it seemed I may not
be reading again until land while adding, “I’ll wait and tell you if you’re
right.”
“Ok! Michael…don’t you agree?” She
was now revving up her delivery by purposefully slowing down the intro and then
speeding up during the big finale for a last name crescendo: “You.. could… be….
Barbra Streisand’s TWIN!!!!” Michael nodded emphatically up and down
while she patted his arm on the downbeat.
“I mean, YOU are much prettier, but, seriously – you two are identical.” This qualifying beauty tag line has typically
always followed when someone shares Barbra with me. It’s a judgment that consistently makes me
cringe.
Barbra and I go way back. I’ve
learned to live with it. Before Barbra
it was Julie Kavner. Julie is the
actress who does Marge Simpson’s voice and used to be on the TV show, “Rhoda.” When I was in my thirties, a co-worker cut
out a magazine photo of Julie and left it for me on my office desk. She actually hung it to my desk lamp to make
sure I didn’t miss it. Stapled to it was
a note which said in caps, “SHE COULD BE YOUR TWIN!” with a smiley face.
Everyone in the office the next day agreed.
When I hit my forties, it seemed Barbra pushed Julie aside.
The deal is - we all have close set eyes.
Large noses and close set eyes.
In my case, it’s my French descent and in their case, it’s
whatever. When you get into this, the
lens seems wrought with teetering on ethnic stereotypes and
generalizations. It’s dicey to analyze
but when you are the subject you invariably find you want to learn more. Living as Barbra has been a lesson in
stereotypes. Because these people see a
resemblance they sometimes take it to the next level and assume I am also
Jewish. It tends to get mentioned after
they learn my husband was born Jewish to which I simply reply, “Actually, I was
born Irish-French Catholic.” A few times
this has been followed by “What?! You must
be kidding?! You’re not Jewish? Why you
look….your hair is so curly and …” then they trail off.
Are you ready? Please do sit down as these others may make your brain
hurt. Drum roll, please: My famous doppelgänger trifecta is: Barbra Streisand, Meryl Streep and Grace
Slick.
No, I am not diagnosed with Schizophrenia. These three, distinct and
dramatically different personalities and faces have somehow been attributed to
reminding people of me. Again, I don’t make this stuff up and I really don’t understand
it. I just go with it, and apparently
write about it.
It seems like it’s a student who see me more frequently as reminding them
of Meryl. Every year at least three students come up to me after class and ask,
“Darrell? Do you happen to know the actress Meryl Streep?” for which I always
pause, pondering if there are actually any living human beings in the modern world
who don’t. “You remind me of her so much!” This one is completely baffling on new
levels. Let’s face it; I don’t have any
features like Meryl. It obviously throws
out the eyes, hair and nose but seems to settle on some other factors I just can’t
see. Our names rhyme, so I guess at
least that’s a start. A friend of mine
heard me share this once and then sat up.
“YES!!! Of Course!! It’s so obvious now. Oh, my God!” Really?
I should be so lucky.
Then there is Amazing Grace. I
have been told that the younger Grace Slick from Jefferson Airplane resembled
me when I was young, but not how she looks now. I will vainly admit that
clarification is one huge relief. Grace
Slick is unrecognizable to me now. She
is a large lady who now slicks her white hair back severely in a ponytail, has
distinct dark, penciled-in eyebrows and is 74 years old. The minute I saw photos of her now, I gasped
out loud. She looks just like my
mother. Ouch.
A doppelgänger boomerang experience is something like peering through the
looking glass. The illusion is powerful
to the beholder and reflects something intangible, to us all. No matter how much I analyze and dissect the
pieces, I have learned it is best to let go.
It’s like falling down the rabbit hole into a place where everything is
not what you see. “Do you have any idea who you
look like?”
“..Go Ask Alice, I think she’ll
know.”
