Weâd been on the road by 2 a.m., and after a missed flight and a seven-hour drive from upstate New York, I was finally in the city. I was with my girlfriend, one of the few people â alongside my parents and a handful of friends â who knew what I was about to do. I wasnât scheduled to work at my job at a fishing store (where I sell bait and tackle, and keep moored boats topped up with gas) this weekend. For that Iâm grateful, because Iâm not sure how Iâd have explained the situation to my boss otherwise.
I saw the competition flier on the internet a few weeks ago and thought it could be fun. My girlfriend is a huge Chalamet fan, and was excited by the whole idea. So, I registered as a contestant and posted a selfie to the organizers â all that was needed to enter â just as a joke. I wasnât sure if the Manhattan event was even real or not. But as it became apparent that it was legit, I bought a plane ticket. It didnât cost much, with transport and a couple of nights stay coming to around $400. After all, this may be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
I wasnât nervous. If anything, I was pumped. Iâve been thinking of moving to New York City for a while â hopefully once I finish studying graphics and multimedia marketing at the State University of New York Canton (SUNY) â so this felt like a good opportunity. I want to do something creative, like making clothes, shooting videos or modeling, so I reasoned that the event could be a good networking opportunity. Thatâs how people get jobs isnât it? Through connections?
The Chalamet comparisons began earlier this year when I grew out my dark, curly hair. People have joked under Instagram posts that they liked me in âDune 2.â I get looks from passersby on the street and a work colleague calls me Willy Wonka.
Friends make jokes about the likeness, too. But the weirdest moment happened last winter, when I went to Toronto with my girlfriend during the holidays. We were in a mall and saw a âWonkaâ pop-up with giant posters and a huge pink âchocolateâ tree, just like the one from the movie.
Itâs funny to think I felt awkward posing for that picture, and yet I was traveling to an event where people take hundreds or even thousands more like it.
When I got to Washington Square Park in Manhattan on Sunday, half an hour before the contest was due to begin, there were already at least 1,000 people in the crowd.
For a while, all I could see were phone screens â people recording me, taking my picture and asking to speak to me. At first it was overwhelming. I felt hounded by the TV cameras and journalists, as if I were an animal in the zoo or a circus. I was scared that contestants would be asked to perform or walk in front of all these people. I heard some boos and cheers at the other end of the park (I later saw online that it was the crowd judging other contestants), but I stayed under the Washington Square Arch.
I met a few other lookalikes and we stuck together amid the pandemonium. The NYPD issued a dispersal order and, at one point, an officer approached me and screamed that I needed to leave the park. I ignored him and moved away, but I saw another contestant get handcuffed and dragged out of the area. (The NYPD has since confirmed that it fined organizers $500 for an âunpermitted costume contest,â and at least one contestant was taken away in handcuffs, though a police spokesperson told the Associated Press that charges are pending.)
This will be my one and only lookalike competition. While I loved my three hours of fame (I have to admit, I felt a buzz from being ârecognizedâ) it had its downsides. The stares, people pulling and touching you, photographing you. Luckily for me, as soon as it was over I could go and eat tacos with my girlfriend â no fans crowding the table, no disguises, no sneaky pictures being snapped from across the restaurant. Next week, Iâll go back to school and my job at the fishing store like nothing happened.
âWonkaâ is distributed by Warner Bros., which is owned by CNNâs parent company Warner Bros. Discovery.
