Saturday, February 20, 2016

Behind The Gaga Glasses

I get out of my limo and the paparazzi surrounds me out of nowhere. The large crowd of public gawkers keeps growing. They think someone famous is there. My vision is hazy and dark through my sunglasses.
A woman hugs me sobbing hysterically and tells me that my music saved her life.
A DJ asks if I remember him from when I started.
A teenager tells me The Monster Ball changed their life.
Children are begging me for autographs.
I'm led to a step and repeat where there are some famous NFL players. They act like they know me. I wonder if they know Lady Gaga in real life or if they are pretending to to look cool.
The camera flashes are so intense and bright that I can't see anymore.
I feel dizzy on my 6 inch platforms but keep posing. The crowd gets bigger.
Security firmly takes my arm and pulls me inside to safety, away from the noise and flashes.
I close my eyes and open them, then take off my sunglasses expecting to wake up from some crazy dream.

I go to the dressing room to change out of my wig, costume and sunglasses packing them all into a large cheap canvas duffel bag.
A few minutes later I walk outside to see the remnants of the crazy scene I had caused.
The same photographers who were hounding me don't even glance up, the excited kids and crying woman look right past me, all still waiting for Lady Gaga to come out of the building and hoping for another glimpse of her. I'm just a nobody again. No ones cares.

I sigh, leave the chaotic scene I had just caused behind me and make my way underground to ride the subway back to my tiny Brooklyn apartment.

Me and the paparazzi at fashion week