Do you happen to resemble a celebrity? Are you interested in receiving $50, 50 British pounds, or 50 euros? Naturally, you would. Just before Halloween, a multitude of Wonkas appeared at Washington Square Park for a Timothée Chalamet impersonator contest that concluded with a surprise appearance by Timothée himself (Kylie was absent) and handcuffs as one impersonator was apprehended. Since then, a worldwide spree of look-alike challenges has emerged, bringing together groups of individuals with faint likenesses to our beloved public figures in parks globally.
London’s Harry Styles gathering featured a dozen dandy men donning feather boas, Gucci flared trousers, and shaggy haircuts competing for the reward. (The least resembling Harry carried a bag of sugar and a watermelon.) A startling—and somewhat suggestive—mix of hefty thighs, earbuds, and everyday individuals entered the Paul Mescal look-alike competition in Dublin. The Mescal victor remarked, “There’s a Paul Mescal in all of us,” which is supposedly the precursor to the gladiator fleeing from you in the park. Indeed, (a man slightly resembling a) chef: A blatant Jeremy Allen White doppelgänger clinched the victory without disrobing to his Calvins. Bushwick’s Zayn Malik candidates were merely satisfactory, and the Dev Patel contest in San Francisco was notably lacking in truly uncanny millionaire imitators.
The imitation trend seems like a harmless amusement—a local excitement that hurts no one, an overflow of lightheartedness. However, I can’t shake the feeling that, culturally, everything is a repeat. We are bombarded with replicas—recognizable plots and themes that reiterate the known instead of dramatically reshaping our perception. No disrespect to Timmy, but Dune is a reboot, and Mescal’s Gladiator is a revisitation. I thoroughly enjoyed Wicked, yet part of its comfort stemmed from its familiarity, the absence of shocks, the cozy predictability of knowing the direction. I believe we all, in some sense, wish the world mirrored the world we recognize. The global atmosphere is teeming with grim new updates and unexpected political developments; each day we navigate through countless real-world surprises. When seeking refuge, there’s comfort in a cinematic musical resembling a Broadway hit, an arena filled with classic warriors, a Harry Styles metaphor. We already know the victors and the vanquished; the result isn’t startling enough to keep us up all night.
As the strongly brewed essence of the Timothée contest diminishes with each new celebrity dip, I’m uncertain about the future. A Troye Sivan twink competition? An Elon Musk expedition? (I’d insert a quip here, but I’d rather not risk being ousted from X…yet.) I would genuinely relish seeing a park packed with women emulating the Oompa-Loompa from the “Willy’s Chocolate Experience” in Glasgow. Up next is tomorrow’s Zenday-a-like event. I am eager to witness who dares to believe they resemble arguably the most stunning woman alive. All I can express is: Best of luck, darlings.