Help! My fake “showmanship” is turning into the real thing!
Dear Remy,
For the past six months I’ve been in a pseudo-romantic relationship with a pop star. I’m an actor, I’ve just made it into the big leagues, and suddenly I have a “team” around me.
You know the ones who do this: publicists, personal chefs, and even aestheticians. (When I first heard the word aesthetician, I nearly fainted, thinking it was some kind of “obstetrician-gynecologist.” But apparently aestheticians deal with the skin, not the baby.)
Remy, have you ever met a publicist? They’re terrifying. They speak at a speed beyond human comprehension. And my team quickly decided that a fake romance between me and another rising star, this pop singer, would be great PR for both of us. So were born the fake paparazzi photos of me backstage at her concerts, the fake photos of us boarding a private jet with Austin Bergstrom, and the cheesy snapshot of us sharing the Stanley Cup on 5th Avenue. (Two straws, one cup. Yikes.)
The problem is, I’m actually crazy about her. Seriously.
I dream of braiding her hair and buying her a matching slanket and taking her out on my two-seater pedal boat. I even dream of building her a cabin in the woods and a recording studio for her, a dojo for me, and a pier where we can go fly fishing.
But the problem is, I can’t tell anyone. My PR team plans our entire relationship: We’re “breaking up” around Thanksgiving (the Instagram announcement is already drafted, font and color scheme included), and then I’m going to stop shaving until Halloween to convince the world that I’ve “gone astray.”
Remy, I’m lost. What should I do? I’m a hopeless romantic and I fell in love with someone because of a PR campaign.
Sincerely,
The protagonist who fell in love
To my beloved protagonist
Ah, yes. The wild world of PR. I’ve met PR people before and they can be scary, especially when you’re talking about “strategies” like beard timelines. But let’s be serious for a second.
You’re marching towards a new level of fame, and yes, it comes with PR theatrics. But don’t lose sight of what’s important: your emotions. You’re caught between a rock and a hard place (or, in your case, between a private jet and the Stanley Cup). PR can blur the line between reality and story, but your real emotions need their own space to breathe.
First, talk to your team. PR professionals often see their clients as avatars on a media chessboard, but they need to remember they’re human, not dreamy Pac-Men devouring PR dots. Be honest about how this fake romance is affecting you mentally and emotionally. Transparency can lead to better strategies that honor both your feelings and your career.
Finally, ask yourself: Can this relationship survive out of the limelight? Does your pop star dream of wooden sheds and matching slankeys? Does she like fly fishing? These questions are important if you want a real relationship and not just a selection for social media.
Keep us updated and we hope you find love beyond PR stunts and Instagram filters.
Remy
Illustration by Russ Tudor
My job is murder…literally.
Dear Remy,
Einstein once said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. I’m pretty sure he was referring to murder documentaries.
I loved being a documentary filmmaker because it allowed me to travel the world, exercise my academic talents (I majored in Anthropology at Yale with a minor in Primate Evolution), and tell unique stories.
But the last five years have been all about murder documentaries. Every day, the same thing: drone footage of the overgrown swamp where Jane Doe’s shoes were found, interviews with coroners who all speak in the same eerie tone, and listening to the sad cello soundtrack that now dominates my Spotify algorithm. I have the phone numbers of every pathologist from Seattle to Orlando saved in my contacts.
To be honest, I find the world’s obsession with murder disturbing, as if humanity has become “murderous” and is turning me into an unwilling murderer.
I felt like I saw a light at the end of the tunnel when an old executive called me and asked me if I wanted to try something new. But it turned out to be a killer podcast.
Remy, please help me. Should I continue down this dark and bloody path, or should I stop while I still have my sanity? I dream of making a documentary about regenerative agriculture in the Lower Mekong. But who am I fooling?
Sincerely,
Get a dead-end job
For those of you in a dead-end job
We understand your pain, your world is colored with crime scene tape, so it makes you want to film literally anything else, why not a heartwarming story about alpacas?
But let’s not jump at it too quickly. Murder documentaries are a form of anthropology in themselves. They explore human behavior, social reactions, and even cultural taboos. An interest in death is nothing new. Humanity has been obsessed with it for, well, ages. So don’t beat yourself up too much for being in this genre. After all, we haven’t hit the nail on the head yet, have we?
Maybe the problem isn’t the subject matter, but the fact that it’s so formulaic. There’s more to these stories than the crime scene. What happens to the lives of those left behind? How will communities rebuild? Are there intriguing, untold stories among these tragedies that will reignite your passion?
Why not take up the offer for the murder podcast and use it as a springboard to branch out? At the same time, start working on a project on the Lower Mekong. Maybe you’ll find a way to merge the two worlds. After all, who says the Mekong doesn’t have dark secrets?
Good luck, and don’t declare your career dead just yet.
Remy
Am I too beautiful for my own good?
Dear Remy,
It pains me to write this because I couldn’t care less about any of this stuff, but I have no choice.
To put it mildly, I am one of the most famous actresses in the world. I have been called a “darling of the screen,” a “Hollywood leading lady,” and even a “national treasure.”
Naturally, when a major studio approached me about making a biopic about my life, I immediately agreed. It would be a crime not to tell my story to the public.
But then something terrifying happened: the casting process. Frankly, the actress proposed to play me was insulting — a skinny, quirky creature who wouldn’t look out of place selling detergent on cable TV, definitely not someone with a shot at being the lead in a box office hit.
Remy, should I just accept that my kind of beauty can never be replicated? Should I drop the project and fire my agent (my third this year)?
Sincerely,
The Disgruntled Duyenne
The Disgruntled Duyenne
Casting in Hollywood is like dating: the perfect match isn’t always obvious at first glance.
Casting directors aren’t just looking for physical beauty (though that’s obviously their primary concern). They consider the intangible qualities that make someone like you a true star. It’s not just about finding someone with perfect cheekbones or a camera-friendly smile. It’s about capturing your essence. Think about it: the way you talk, the unique way you walk, the way you give a deadly look when someone brings you the wrong coffee. That’s exactly what they’re trying to cast.
Let’s be honest, beauty standards have evolved since you first burst onto the scene. Hollywood isn’t all about glossy perfection anymore. You might be surprised at how well that “quirky” actress you ignored captures your inner self, even if she’s not your twin.
As for agents, maybe it’s best to hold off on firing them — even in this city, going through three agents in one year is a red flag — keep an open mind and trust the process (yes, I know it’s cliché), and remember that biopics are about legacy, not just vanity.
Remy
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Remy Blumenfeld is a veteran TV producer and founder of Vitality Guru, a business and career coaching company for media talent. Contact him at guru@vitality.guru.
Questions edited by Sarah Mills.
