Fake It Like You Mean It

I was standing in line at the Alumni Theatre last night when I heard the girl behind me start bragging about her boyfriend's job in Stratford. She was clearly an actress-wannabe, flighty and melodramatic, very aware that everyone around her was listening in. Her speech patterns weren't natural. She was reciting the brilliant speech she'd so often practiced in her head. I've been there. I've performed instead of conversed. It's embarrassing, but it's part of growing up in dreamland.

It would have been easy to just let her be, excusing her ditsy hair-flipping as she waxed poetic about her amazing man. But I couldn't. Because she didn't know what she was talking about.

"I mean, it's not that bad. Actually, it's awesome, hanging out with Graham and Jonathan Goad."

Graham Abbey hasn't been in Stratford for a couple of years now. Anyone with Google knows this. As does anyone who actually hangs out in Stratford. Or who watches TV. And both he and Goad recently married their former Stratford costars. They don't hang out with shallow young women. I know this much is true.

Her Stratford bragging is straight out of the summer of 2003, back when the two mentioned men were the theatre's headlining heartthrobs. A prof of mine once told me that Graham was the one parents wanted their daughters to date, while Jonathan was the one daughters actually wanted to date. I begged to differ. But I go against the grain.

I understand the appeal of the name-drop. And I also understand the thrill of sounding important and theatre-savvy. But this young actress needs to learn to use a search engine before she starts to gush about her fantasy life. And for the sake of her boyfriend, maybe she should lay off the handsome-actor references. She should be excited that HE is in Stratford. And that Shakespeare is forever awesome.

Sheesh.

I should teach classes on how to be a girl.