So Sorry, But I Am Too Famous for That
A Comprehensive Guide (At Least Until I Become Blake Lively)
Here is the thing about me: I am not famous. But I’m also not completely unfamous. A struggle I’ve encountered as I move through the world (and the entertainment industry) is to determine just how famous I am, and just how much I can be expected to put up with.
Here are some braggy examples to prove to you that I am a teeny bit famous, accompanied by ratings of how good they felt.
One time at a friend’s party, the most beautiful man I’d ever seen recognized me from one of my tiktoks and proceeded to flirt with me for like 45 minutes before dropping that he had a boyfriend. A disappointing yet affirming experience. 7/10
I posted a video recently and someone commented, “aren’t you the hot simpsons writer?” If I get hit by a bus tomorrow, that is what I want my obituary’s headline to be. 8/10
My mom recently told me that a friend of hers’ son was a big deal on tik tok. My sister and I looked him up, and I had more followers than he did. 5/10
Most of the time when a tweet or video of mine goes viral, I will get a message from an ex-boyfriend or someone I went on a date with saying “lol my friend sent me this.” This is truly one of the best feelings there is. I think there’s a solid chance I go to heaven and it’s just me getting a stream of messages saying “lol sorry for ghosting you but my friend just sent me your video.” (And maybe in heaven I also don’t have a stomachache all the time, but I’m flexible on that front). 9/10
I have a New Yorker caricature!! I have to remind myself that it actually happened sometimes. Is it an especially flattering depiction of my face? Not really! But that’s fine!! 10/10
That’s about how famous I am. To explain it in a way that might be easier for you to understand:
All this to say, I’m not famous. But I have noticed as I get older that there are some things that I am too famous for. Honestly, when I say “too famous,” it’s even not really about fame; it’s more of a shorthand for “I have grown out of that.” While my specific list (coming soon I promise) is focused on the nuanced blend of feelings that comes with growing older in Los Angeles, I think growing out of things is pretty universal.
Growing up, I’ve found, is largely about growing out of things. For example, I have decided that given the option of staying in a hostel and seeing a new foreign country, I would simply rather not see said country. This sentiment will not come as a surprise to anyone who knows me well (I am firmly a glamper, not a camper) but cemented when, in a hostel in Amsterdam, I rolled over in my bed thin cot to find a mouse on the floor, staring cooly at me. I’m really not a squeamish person, but I generally prefer to sleep not in the company of rodents, so I went to the front desk. "Hey… sorry to bother you, but I just found a mouse in my room?” I said. The man sighed and said “Ugh, again? Okay. I’ll go get the cat.” As I tried to process what this could possibly mean, he walked into the back area, doing the “pspspsps” noise (that for some reason, society has decided cats like), then came back over to me. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t find him right now. I’ll put him in your room when he comes back.”
And that’s when I realized I was just a bit too famous for hostels.
Hopefully that clarifies my tone here. Now, without further ado, here is a list of things I am too famous for, in no particular order. I would encourage you to treat this as a guide to interacting with me – especially if we only have a parasocial relationship – and I would encourage you to think about your own list! I have found a lot of comfort in the realization that, as an adult, I may simply have outgrown some of the more annoying parts of life.
I am too famous to drive to WeHo for your thing.
There was a time in my life where I was driving to West Hollywood weekly, to watch Drag Race at Flaming Saddles (RIP) or to go clubbing, back in the days of yore when The Abbey was actually a gay bar. Here is something that needs to be said. Everyone who lives in WeHo believes that WeHo is central, but you cannot be “central” if there is no good way to get to you. WeHo is in between my place and my parents’ house. With excellent traffic conditions, it takes 25 minutes to get to WeHo from my place, and 25 minutes to get to my parents’ place from WeHo. It also takes me 25 minutes to get from my place to my parents’ place. Does that sound convenient to you, Jayce?
Anyway, you know what’s not a compelling invite? “You have two options to get to my party: paying $70 total in Ubers (recommended), or parking on the street. Please note: there is absolutely no street parking. BYOB!”
I’m sorry, but I’m simply too famous for that. I will maybe meet you in Hollywood, which takes us both 10 minutes to get to, but to be honest I’m probably reconsidering my friendship with you after that invite.I am too famous to go on a date with your barista.
I really do love it when people try to set me up with gay people they know. But - and it pains me to say this - I am no longer open to being set up with the ”incredibly sweet!!!” Starbucks barista who smiles at you every day (note: when a romantic prospect is described to you solely with “really sweet” it always means he is ugly).
I know this sounds harsh. But it is earned. Because in the past, I have agreed to be put in touch, and then the barista (or Nordstrom cashier, or Lush sales associate) has not reached out. Do you know how much of an ego blow it is to decide you’re willing to go on a date with a 21-year-old minimum wage worker who looks just a bit like a foot, and then not have him even reach out? I just can’t do it anymore. Call me when you find a “really sweet” man who might be able to pay for my drink.I am too famous to “Queer Eye” an acquaintance’s ne’er-do-well child.
I cannot believe this has happened to me enough times to warrant its own list number, but somehow, I keep ending up with boomers in the entertainment industry pulling me aside at parties to tell me something. “Oooh!” I think. “She runs a production company. Maybe she wants me to staff on a show?” It is never that. It is always some variant of this:
“Johnny! I have a great idea - you should have lunch with my son. He absolutely sucks. All he does is play video games, he can barely hold a conversation, and while he has never written a script, he really wants to be a writer, because he wrote one poem in middle school. And I realized - you’re a writer! I was hoping you could look past his poor personal hygiene for a few hours and let him pick your brain about the industry. Of course, as I mentioned, he can’t really hold a conversation, so this will really be you asking him questions. I think you’ll have a great time.”
Now, let me clarify something. If you have done something for me (set me up on a staffing meeting, given me notes on a script, helped me launch my career, or even just said you’d do any of those things), I really am happy to do what I can for your kid. As a favor. Alternatively, this can totally be a transactional thing. I don’t care if it’s gauche: tell me you’ll read my script if I go out to lunch with the cloud of weed smoke that is your spawn. I probably would even do it if you paid for a nice lunch. That’s something!
But the implication is always that this is something I would enjoy doing. That somehow this will be a good opportunity for me. And maybe for someone who is truly just starting out, this would be something worthwhile. But it’s a no, because I am too famous. And because you are his parent, and love him unconditionally, and you still have made him sound like an awful person to spend a single hour with. Sorry!
I am too famous to listen to a man talk about something boring.
Sir, you get 5 minutes of talking about your thing and then I will be elegantly finding a reason to peel off from the group. So many men truly believe that everyone is interested in everything they have to say, and I am just too famous to indulge them anymore. And the gays are not exempt here. You will get 3 minutes of Housewives ranting and you should feel lucky for every second.
I am too famous to post nude photos on the internet.
(If you listen closely, you can my parents breathing a sigh of relief from the Palisades).
When I really started getting embroiled in gay twitter, I was shocked at how freely some of my OOMFs (look it up! I’m too famous to explain internet shorthand today) posted nudes on the internet. I’m talking full, face-as-well-as-doinker photos. Sometimes to a private group (of like 50, though), sometimes on main. Now, this is not me slut-shaming - I think it’s great that my generation is making nudity less taboo. I really do think we’ll get a congressman who had an OnlyFans at some point, and I welcome that (if it’s hot).
It took me a while to wrap my mind around why someone would feel comfortable showing their grassy knoll and gassy hole to the whole world. But I’ve since realized that most of the people who do this don’t expect - at all - to one day be a public figure. So who cares if someone sees their pink pocket and stink rocket?
I am learning to let go of my fame ambitions (because I really only wanted to be famous with my old hairline) but there is a part of me that thinks there could be a headline one day saying “Click Here to See Johnny LaZebnik’s Super Trouper & Chiquititas!” so I play it safe. (Please note: I am famous enough that my dick 'n’ balls euphemisms don’t have to make sense.)I am too famous to wait 30 minutes alone for you to show up at a restaurant.
A 15 minute delay is fine. Happens to all of us. But being stranded solo at a restaurant for 30 minutes is embarrassing. At least tell me when you realistically will be arriving so I can take a nonchalant lap around the block or something. But you wouldn’t leave Blake Lively to refresh her instagram for 30 minutes. I am not Blake Lively (yet) but I think treating your friends like you would treat Blake Lively is a good coda to live by.
I am too famous to get into fights on social media.
There are a lot of people out there who truly have nothing better to do than explain to a grown man they’ve never met why trans people deserve basic human rights. I went through my online beef era back when I still thought “It’s okay to not be okay” was a really deep turn of phrase, and I discovered that I almost never gained any ground, because the people who engage in these things are looking for just that - engagement. Any engagement at all, like old people asking holding up the line at a pharmacy window simply because it is their main social interaction of the day. Your aunt’s ex-friend Steven does not want to learn why his “joke” about pronouns didn’t land. He wants to be loud and online.
I respect anyone who truly doesn’t have anything better to do than exchange 106 comments back and forth with a woman named Deb who thinks that it’s impolite to wish for Trump to fall into a garbage can and get stuck like Winnie the Pooh. But it couldn’t be me! I was on Jinkx Monsoon’s podcast. (But not her main podcast. I’m not famous.)
Lastly:I am too famous to work for free.
Reread that if you need to!
There are more, I’m sure, but I’ve been editing this for a few hours now and honestly? I’m too famous to spend time thinking of more. Especially because you probably stopped reading after the Hannah Montana screen-grabs.
Johnny
phew