The E list

I am officially an E-list celebrity.

The world of the famous can be broken down into five tiers: tier A, the big-name people with staying power (e.g., Sharon, Kris, and all the others that can be recognized by their first names across all generations); B, those who are currently hot, the its and the anti-its who, in a matter of months, will find their names further and further down the guest list (think reality-show-bred "talents"); C, those who are associated with A or B (SOs, managers, who often accompany their celeb friends/wards to events, and who grace the pages of magazines because of association); D, those who were once famous but now have no career to speak of (i.e., the “Where are they now?”s; most likely once part of the B list); and E, those who've appeared on TV or in print, just one or two times, but one or two times more than 97.3% of the population.

I have no intention of working my way up the celebrity ladder, and in fact am quite reluctant to be on a rung at all. But I just realized that I can't avoid this for long--it's a job hazard.

After guesting on some show in college (long story), and appearing in a TVC which had friends singing the theme song every effin' day while it ran (I won't lie though, I don't regret doing it 'coz it was an interesting experience, plus I got paid ok for a day’s work), I pretty much swore off doing VTRs and, well, being in front of a camera in general. I realized that it's one of the places where I'm least comfortable. Sure, I like having pics taken with friends, but thrust me in the limelight by myself and I panic.

Which is why this morning was a mild form of torture for me. Had to be interviewed about our book for some segment in this TV show. First, there was the matter of picking out an outfit. It was mind-boggling having a closetful of nothing to wear. (Mental note: When shopping for clothes, I should now ask myself, "Could I wear this on TV?" just to prevent future stress. *insert eyerolling here*) Next, there was the makeup. There's this misconception that I'm super kikay when, in reality, I know nothing about putting on makeup. I prefer using my fingers to using all these fancy brushes...or maybe it's just 'coz I don't know what each one is for. Whenever I try to experiment, I always end up looking the same or, in the case of that smoky-eye attempt, like someone who's just gotten a beating. Ordinarily, I would rely on a neighboring beauty ed, but today, I had no one to do it for me. And lastly, the actual interview. I've given speeches and lectured rooms full of auditors, but my public speaking skills tend to run and hide as soon as that lens focuses on me. I think being bad at interviews had a lot to do with the anxiety...

I finally decided on my burnt orange Diane Von Furstenburg-esque wrap dress. I thought I looked a bit plump sitting down, but I convinced myself that if I was going to look fat, there was really nothing I could do about it, whatever it was I chose to wear. Besides I wasn’t going to tell my friends when it was going to air anyway, so only strangers would see me in all my tubby glory. The makeup? I tried, believe me, I tried. I just made up for it with my Farah Fawcett hair. The interview? It went ok, not as bad as I thought it would go. Even with my “ums” I opted not to have second takes. As a result, most of the stuff I said would probably be edited out. It was nice, though, when the others were looking at the screen before I started, and they said, “You look really good!” The bronzer and eye shadow I slathered on must’ve done their work. (Or they were just trying to make uto-uto me feel better.)

Looking back, I probably would’ve talked more slowly (students have commented that I talk too fast). I was also too conscious trying to answer all the questions that I didn’t pay attention to my highly animated eyebrows—in the middle of conversations sometimes, H would actually place his hand on them just to keep me from crinkling my forehead--so I probably looked like I had a bit too much caffeine. But hey, at least I got it over with. And thankfully, it’ll be a looong time before I’m asked to do this again.

I wonder if E-listers get free stuff? Or get some sort of special treatment? No matter. I'm prying my fingers loose from the rung as I type, and quietly melting back into the crowd of Mere Mortals.