I got this frenzied email from one of my best friends last week. “Why does this chick look so much like you? She even has an annoyed look on her face?! This seriously freaked me out. Please let me shop in peace! :)”
Intrigued, I clicked on the Exhibit A link and it was like looking into a mirror — sort of.
Whaaaaat? I screamed first then immediately shoved my laptop in my boyfriend’s face for confirmation that the scream was appropriate.
“Meh,” he shrugged before following up with a requisite, “You’re prettier.” (I swear I wasn’t fishing! This chick is ab fab and not the least bit because she’s rocking my signature bob).
We could be sisters! Or at the very least, first cousins on my mom’s side. I mean despite being what appears to be around my same height, having the same skin tone, the same hair cut and the same smirk, this woman even rocks the same classic dresses I hoard! How weird is that?
So, obviously, I started stalking her. And I, of course, found absolutely nothing besides the pictures of her modeling Soshanna for Saks that creepily followed me via Google Ads to every new page I went to. So she’s sort of stalking me, too, now.
I want us to be best friends because she’s clearly got great taste in genes. Remember when looking exactly like your friends was a prerequisite for hanging out? If the law of attraction can be believed, than the two of us should be totally hot for each other in a heady way. We could finish each other’s sentences, borrow each other’s clothes, brush each other’s bobs into the perfect bowl shape, hate-read “Fifty Shades of Grey” together — and so on and so on. Sounds perfect right?
Or maybe not. We’ve already discussed what a freak I am when it comes to sharing in general and it’s probably safe to assume that same stinginess extends to my face. I hate to blame my life’s ticks on being an only child, but having sisters might have better prepared me for the shock of sharing my likeness with anything other than the mirror. When people say I look like my own sainted mother, I usually balk. Us? No way!
That could explain why I’m low-key obsessed with this girl. What else could we have in common? Does she have a pug named after a jazz legend? Does she hate the word “thoroughfare”? Is her yoga mat just for show, too? I want to know her life because if it’s anything like mine, then who’s to say she won’t show up at my door one day and go, “OK, my turn now!”
Yes, in my mind, life is the setup of “The Parent Trap” with preschool playtime rules.
I know I’m being over the top about this, as I tend to fixate on pointless crap for weeks at a time. But, damn it, if “Selene” (yep) doesn’t make me wonder how many other Helena-a-likes are out there doing stuff like modeling or raising emus for fun and profit. Have they seen pictures of me online and thought, “This bitch,” or, “Let’s start a club”? I’m sure I’ll never know.
Still, every now and then it’s fun to be reminded of the fact that you aren’t as totally unique as you think.