Help! My fake “Showmance” is turning into something real!
Dear Remy,
I've been in a fake relationship with a pop star for the past six months. I'm an actor, just breaking into the big league, and suddenly I have a whole “team” around me.
You know how it goes: PR people, private chefs, and even a beautician. (When I first heard that word, I thought they said “obstetrician” and nearly fainted. But apparently, a beautician does skin, not babies.)
Remy, have you ever met PR people? They’re terrifying. They speak at a speed that’s beyond human comprehension. And my team quickly decided that a fake romance between me and another rising star, this pop singer, would be great publicity for both of us. So, here are the staged paparazzi photos of me backstage at her concert, the fake shots of us boarding a private jet at Austin-Bergstrom, and the corny shots of us sharing a Stanley Cup on 5th Avenue. (Two straws, one cup. Yikes.)
The problem? I'm actually madly in love with her. Really.
I fantasize about braiding her hair, buying us matching slankets, and taking her out on a two-person paddleboat. I even fantasize about building her a cabin in the woods with a recording studio for her, a dojo for me, and a dock to go fly fishing.
But here's the thing: I can't tell anyone. My PR team has the entire relationship planned out. We're scheduled to “break up” around Thanksgiving (the Instagram announcement is already sketched out, including the fonts and color scheme), and then I'd have to stop shaving until Halloween to convince the public that I've “gone off the rails.”
Remy, I'm lost. What should I do? I'm a hopeless romantic and I fell in love with someone in a publicity stunt.
Sincerely,
A protagonist in love
Dear protagonist in love,
Oh yeah. The wild world of PR. I've met PR people before, and let me tell you: they can be terrifying, especially when they talk about “strategies” like beard timelines. But let's get serious for a moment.
You’re navigating a new level of fame, which brings with it a little PR theatrics, sure. But let’s not lose sight of something important: your feelings. You’re stuck between a rock and a hard place (or, in your case, a private jet and a Stanley Cup). PR can sometimes blur the lines between reality and storytelling, but real emotions like yours need their own breathing space.
First, talk to your team. PR people often see clients as avatars on their media chessboard, but it’s time to remind them that you’re a human, not a starry-eyed Pac-Man gobbling up PR dots. Be honest about how this fake romance is affecting you mentally and emotionally. Transparency could lead to a better strategy that respects both your feelings and your career.
Finally, ask yourself: Does this romance have a chance outside the spotlight? Does your pop star dream of matching log cabins and slankets? Does she also enjoy fly fishing? These questions are important if you want a real relationship, not just one curated for social media.
Keep me posted: I'm rooting for you to find love that goes beyond simple publicity stunts and Instagram filters.
Remigio
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 sure he was talking about documentaries about murders.
I used to love being a documentary filmmaker: it took me around the world, challenged my academic skills (I graduated from Yale with a degree in anthropology, specializing in primate evolution), and allowed me to tell unique stories.
But for the past five years, I’ve been doing nothing but murder documentaries. Every day is the same: drone footage of grassy marshes where a Jane Doe shoe was found, interviews with coroners who all use the same eerie tone, and listening to the mournful cello soundtracks that now dominate my Spotify algorithm. I even have the phone numbers of every pathologist from Seattle to Orlando saved in my contacts.
Frankly, I find the world's obsession with murder disturbing. It's as if humanity has become “kill-hungry” and I am its reluctant purveyor.
I thought I saw a light at the end of the tunnel when an old executive called to ask if I wanted to try something new. But it turned out to be… a podcast about murder.
Remy, help me. Do I continue down this dark and bloody road, or do I stop while I still have some sanity? I dream of making a documentary about regenerative agriculture in the Lower Mekong. Who am I kidding?
Sincerely,
Stuck in a dead-end job
Dear Stuck in a Dead End Job,
I understand your pain. Your world is colored by crime scene tapes, and I understand why you would want to film literally anything else, maybe a touching story about alpacas?
But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Murder documentaries are a form of anthropology in themselves. They explore human behavior, social reactions, and even cultural taboos. The fascination with death is nothing new; humanity has been obsessed with it for, well, forever. So don’t be too hard on yourself for being a part of this genre—after all, we’re not putting heads on pikes just yet, are we?
Maybe the problem isn’t the subject matter, but that it’s become so stereotyped. There’s so much more to these stories than the crime scenes. What about the lives of those left behind? How do communities rebuild? Are there interesting, untold narratives within these tragedies that might rekindle your passion?
Why not take up the murder podcast offer but use it as a springboard to diversify? At the same time, start working on that Lower Mekong project. You never know, you might find a way to merge your two worlds. After all, who says the Mekong doesn’t have its dark secrets?
Hang in there and don't declare your career lost just yet.
Remigio
Am I too beautiful for my own good?
Dear Remy,
It pains me to write this, because I consider myself far above these things. But I have no choice.
To put it modestly, I am one of the most famous actresses in the world. I have been called a “screen darling,” a “Hollywood doyenne,” and even a “national treasure.”
Of course, when a major studio approached me to make a biopic about my life, I immediately agreed. It would have been a crime to deny the public my story.
But then came the horror: the casting. The actresses I was cast in were, frankly, offensive. Skinny, flamboyant creatures who wouldn't look out of place selling cleaning products on cable, and certainly not headlining a box office hit.
Remy, should I accept that a beauty like mine cannot be replicated? Should I just abandon the project and fire my agent (this would be the third one this year)?
Sincerely,
A dissatisfied dean
Dear Discontented Dean
Hollywood casting is like dating. Sometimes, the perfect match isn't obvious at first glance.
Casting directors are looking for more than just physical beauty (even though it’s clear that’s your primary concern). They’re looking at the intangible qualities that make someone like you a true star. It’s not just about finding someone with perfect cheekbones or a camera-ready smile; it’s about capturing your essence. Think about it: your speech patterns, your unique walk, the way you give a look that could kill when someone dares to bring you the wrong coffee. That’s what they’re trying to cast.
And let's be honest: Beauty standards have evolved since you came on the scene. Hollywood is no longer just about glossy perfection. That “quirky” actress you passed up might surprise you with how well she captures your inner self, even if she's not your physical twin.
As for your agent, maybe you should slow down on the firings. Changing three agents in a year is a red flag, even in this town. Keep an open mind, trust the process (yes, I know it's a cliché), and remember that a biopic isn't just about vanity, it's about legacy.
Remigio
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Remy Blumenfeld is a veteran television producer and founder of Vitality Guru, which provides business and career coaching to successful people in media. Send inquiries to: guru@vitality.guru.
Questions edited by Sarah Mills.