My name appears on a window in the New York back lot of Universal Orlando. Anyone familiar with the Disney tradition of featuring super-special contributors on the windows along Main Street knows what an honor it is to be remembered this way.
In my case at Universal, the “honor” was bestowed on me because, 35 years ago, I was hanging out in the office of the art director who was taxed with filling hundreds of facade windows with content. While I’d like to think that I contributed mightily to the opening of Universal — I absolutely did — I was obviously shirking my duties at the time, shooting the breeze. Give this man a window!
Am I proud of it? Hell yes! Did I deserve it? Maybe. Have I ever told anyone this story? Not until now. It’s just another brick in the sometimes trembling wall that protects my ego and holds back my insecurities and weaknesses from spilling all over the place. Messy.
Poseurs and Impostors
I consulted with A.I. to help me understand how a poseur is different than an impostor. According to the non-human, a poseur is someone who “adopts a particular style or attitude as a façade to gain acceptance or appear ‘in the know,’ even if they lack genuine interest or understanding of that style.”
While the Impostor Syndrome is an “internal experience where a person, despite evident success and competence, feels like a fraud, doubting their achievements and fearing that they will be exposed as inadequate.”
For me: check and check.
Btw, did you notice all the quotation marks in those last paragraphs? It’s a symptom of me trying to face down, overcome or at least admit to my shortcomings: I didn’t write this stuff, so let me lavish credit in overabundance…to a logarithm!
Le Poseur
I was a poseur for a long time. Simply using the word “poseur,” as opposed to the equally acceptable “poser,” is proof that I still suffer. “Oh look, Doug is so Continental.”
After losing all self-respect in the course of my two years at middle school, I was determined to be “somebody” in high school. I could hang with many groups but I fit in with none. I was a chameleon, being whatever I needed to be in order to break out from the lonely, invisible nerd I believed myself to be. There was an obvious desperation to belong. When I see kids like that today — their demeanor makes it obvious — I just want to tell them, it’s going to be okay. I once asked to be removed from the gifted track so that I could mix with the general population (arrogant humblebrag = poseur). That didn’t last long, I got spit back out. My desperation grew.
Early in my career, I got high-profile jobs where celebrities and important people existed. I liked being around famous people, even though I was not one of them. In order to survive there, one must engender of sense of disinterest even though, holy shit, look who I’m talking to! Such is the life of a publicist: an invisible chameleon. You’ll read plenty of this name-dropping BS in 60|60: spending time with everyone from Michael Jackson to Steve Jobs to Benny Hill (I can’t stop!). It was cool and interesting but hollow.
The Impostor
Some of the most accomplished people I know willingly admit to suffering from Impostor Syndrome. We’re talking business moguls, movie stars and pro athletes. See what I did there? I intimated that I know a few famous people. I do, but is it integral to the story?
My own career has put me in rooms and situations where I felt the respect of others. I know they thought me to be smart and creative, or at least they hoped I was. After all, they were paying me to be so. But if they only knew what I knew: I was a complete fraud, I didn’t really know anything, I never took a class in this, I’m no expert. I took so many shortcuts, got so many lucky breaks, I didn’t earn any of it. I might be having a bout of terrifying insecurity, but I still acted and spoke like I was in control. My God, who am I kidding?
Which brings me to…
“Shades of mediocrity“
As I’ve been amassing topics for this 60|60 series, I’m super alert to find inspiration everywhere, even unconsciously. A few weeks back, I watched the SNL50 special (so young!). Paul Simon sang a song I’d heard 100s of times. But this time, a phrase leaped out at me: shades of mediocrity. Mediocrity had been a working theme for 60|60 but Mary felt it was too self-deprecating. I’m pretty comfortable with it.
My Mom celebrated mediocrity. Her mantra, as a Spanish teacher, was “Es mejor que nada, baby!” It’s better than nothing. One summer long ago, we attended Camp Michigania, a family camp for alumni of the University of Michigan. We shared a duplex cottage with the Stevens family. Like many summer camps, the curricula included a lot of competitions, in archery and equestrian and sailing and so on.
At the awards ceremony on the final eventing, The Stevenses won everything, including my Mom’s awe and respect. Other awards were bestowed for the worst performances in each activity, in a tongue-in-cheek spirit. We didn’t win squat. We won nothing. We weren’t nearly the best and we weren’t the worst.
Right down the mediocre middle was just fine by Mom. She didn’t try to be something she wasn’t; she seemed perfectly satisfied with her lot, at least in manner.
Like Mom, I’m coming to find contentment in my own shades of mediocrity. Did I dream of producing corporate events as a kid? No. I wanted to be a filmmaker or a legit writer. But, as I’ve stated in 60|60, I have come to accept the career and life I’ve chiseled out for myself. It’s unique and occasionally fascinating, and it involves the mediums of film and writing and design. I’m proud of some of the work I’ve delivered for clients and myself, some of it award-winning.
In that way, I feel real, genuine and authentically me, finally.
It all comes back to Walt
During my intern days at Walt Disney World, one of the shifts in Main Street Operations was to staff the Walt Disney Story on Town Square. I would roam the museum, answer questions and deliver a few spiels. One of them was at the end of the short movie about Walt. That meant spending the last few minutes of the film positioned inside the theater, maybe 16 times a day.
As such, I had his closing words memorized; still do. Speaking to an unseen interviewer, Walt effuses, “I had a brother who I really envied because he was a mailman. But he’s the one that had all the fun. He had himself a trailer, and he used to go out and go fishing, and he didn’t worry about payrolls and stories and picture grosses or anything. And he was the happy one. I always said, he’s the smart Disney.”
A happy mailman with a boat. If only.
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