Totally Unauthorized

A side of the film industry most people never see.


Warning for the guys! Today’s post is very girly.

Read at your own risk.

Mr. Movie Star cannot dress himself.

I’m serious.

He has a closet full of expensive, well cut clothes that fit him, and yet once he actually tried to leave his house wearing baggy orange corduroys with a hole in the butt, a green tee shirt, and a blue fisherman’s hat.

I think a stylist ‘garanimalized’ his closet for him – when he has to get dressed up, he looks great, but all of his nice clothes are organized by outfits, and there are actually little colored tags sewn into them so he can tell what goes with what.

I was sitting right on the edge, and today’s outfit pushed me the rest of the way over (threadbare olive drab camo pants with brown corduroy patches in the crotch, orange flip flops and a purple tee shirt with the neckband and sleeves cut out – once again, he was planning on leaving his house dressed like this), so this afternoon he finally let me update his casual look (i.e. I went on a rampage and threw away the most worn out, stained and generally heinous stuff that he’d been wearing and then we went to get him some new clothes).

Mr. Movie Star is a typical guy in that what he’d really like to do is go on the internet, order a bunch of stuff from the Gap website and then throw it in a pile in the corner if it doesn’t fit.
In a panic to not go shopping, he informed me that he was far too famous to go wandering around the city on a Sunday. I argued that I thought he was probably okay in Beverly Hills, and if I was wrong and a hoarde of teenage girls attacked him, he’d at least have nice new underwear when they tore his clothes off (don’t get me started on his underwear – that’s a whole post on it’s own).

Also, I was holding most of his rags hostage, so he really had no choice.

I managed to find a suitably enthusiastic salesgirl with tastes similar to mine, we spent a few moments discussing Mr. Movie Star’s wardrobe needs, and then she shoved him into a dressing room and just threw clothes at him until we found a good number of items that were casual and comfortable yet presentable – and nothing clashes with anything else so no ‘garanimalization’ needed.

As we were leaving, Mr. Movie Star had that “deer in the headlights” look that guys get when they spend three hours trying on clothes, so we decided to grab some dinner. A nice meal and a couple of glasses of wine later and he’d finally relaxed, although I doubt I’ll ever get him to thank me for throwing out those horrible orange pants.

And although there were polite autograph requests throughout the day, the dreaded hoarde of screaming teenage girls and rabid paparazzi never did materialize.

Filed under: life in LA, Non-Work

3 Responses

  1. Dave2 says:

    I look forward to seeing you in US Magazine’s “They’re Just Like Us” column with a suitably cheesy sub-head like “they get their girlfriends to pick out clothes for them” type of thing.

  2. Anonymous says:

    Ok, maybe a little girly for me today, but still
    written well enough to be entertained.

    Just wanted to say your blog has been great for me
    as an aspiring gaffer before and after my first
    visit to LA.

    Keep writing. Please.


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