The Big Apple had landed. New York City in Toronto. Storefronts were changed. Street signs were taken down. NY-style subways were planted on the sidewalk.
Oh, the intrigue of a film set. Like a forbidden paradise of trailers and wires and jaded crew folk. But if you look closely, you just might find a rare species amongst the lighting equipment.
My brain made the connection instantly. Kristin Kreuk, the woman who formed a huge part of my Smallville-obsessed high school angst, was just a block away from me. I suddenly felt an impulse to catch a glimpse of her. So I sauntered over to the film set to the tune of Remy Zero’s Save Me.
The scene was extraordinary: the director yelled action. A crew of planted cars, including some New York taxis, drove by. And petite Ms. Kreuk, stepped off the sidewalk and raised her arm as if to hail a cab. Cut. It’s understandable why this pivotal scene justified the disruption of a busy city street.
Step by step by step, I made my way to the celebrity. At just the precise moment, when I was passing by where I thought she was standing, I looked to my left and there she was, nestled amongst the cameras, staring straight at me. My heart lept. I smiled and kept walking.
And for the rest of the day, I could think of nothing else but the moment when our eyes met. She was real. She was…human. And she looked exactly like she did on TV. She was tiny and beautiful.
My thoughts were immediately flooded with giddy euphoria. But the more I thought about our small, meaningless interaction, the more I doubted it. It drew me to a state of anxiety. Should I have said hi? Could I have asked for a picture? Either of those ideas both excited and terrified me. Oh no, I could never. Though I wanted to talk to her, I struggled to think of anything meaningful to say. Though I wanted to take a picture with her, I didn’t want to invade her personal space. I wasn’t a creepy fan girl.
And there it was, the creature living inside of me all along: the fan girl. In an instant of spotting a celebrity, I lost all sense of the maturity I’ve worked so hard to convey. What remained were giggles and this nagging desire to get as close as I possibly could.
What was it about Ms. Kreuk that reduced me to this irrational state? She is nothing but a character to me. I don’t know anything about her except the roles she’s played. And I’m absolutely nothing to her. I went home that day and continued my life just as usual. Meeting Kristin Kreuk wouldn’t have made any difference unless she offered me a job or a date with Tom Welling.
When I focused on this truth, although my bubble burst, I returned to reality. I can admire an actor’s work and persona, while acknowledging that my existence runs parallel to them. Sometimes my path might cross with some rich, popular person, and it doesn’t matter if I stop to talk, or keep on walking. We both move forward. Perhaps this is the cure to keeping the fan girl at bay.