I am writing this hungover. My predominant memory from last night is when someone said I looked like Dua Lipa. “Well, you look like her shadow,” he explained, just as I adopted what I assumed would be the singer’s humble, yet sexy reaction to being paid a compliment. He went on to clarify that we were roughly the same height and if someone were to see Dua’s outline coming toward them, at night, they would easily mistake her for me. Easily. I have a new sense of self-worth. A delusional confidence that I imagine the people showing up for all these viral celebrity look-alike contests carry with them into the competitions and life itself.
It all started on October 27, 2024, with the Timothées flocking to New York to compete for US$50 and the right to say they most resemble Timothée Chalamet (who actually showed up to the event, but didn’t win). It has since spread to include the Paul Mescals of Dublin, the Dev Patels of San Francisco, the Harry Styleses of London, the Jeremy Allen Whites of Chicago, and even the Luigi Mangionis of Manhattan. The formula is the same: young, attractive male celebrities, low cash prizes, and a sea of spectators looking to entrap their celebrity-crush doppelgangers. Yes, these events have morphed into a sort of dating event for those desperately seeking celebrity look-alike boyfriends. A swayamvar of sorts that has now found its way to Delhi’s Hauz Khas, where people are being invited to compete to be a Sarojini market copy of Arjun Rampal.
And what’s in it for the contestants? Well there’s ₹500, a hug (not clear from whom), and cigarettes (yes, really) with a cap of 10. Which seems completely redundant given Delhi’s air quality problems. And, of course, the bragging rights to say that you look kinda, sorta, not-really-but-more-than-other-people like Arjun Rampal.
Most of the ‘doppelgangers’ have been a far cry from the real thing, bearing a resemblance to their chosen celebrity much like a primate bears to modern man on the Darwinian scale. With many, many missing links in between. But I suppose, if you squint with one eye and squeeze a lemon in the other, they could pass off as your celebrity heartthrob.
Another contest has emerged, urging off-brand Abhays to congregate and compete for ₹501, three free movie tickets (movie name not specified), and two packs of gum (brand and flavour not specified). I think it’s worth noting that Abhay Deol is already a Bobby Deol knock-off, so long-lost relatives should wiggle out of the woodworks now. If for nothing else but the two packs of gum.
I understand that Delhi has a gap in its Bollywood market looking to be filled. But is that gap really Abhay Deol-shaped? Or perhaps sort-of Abhay Deol shaped?
There is, no doubt, something bold about drawing parallels between yourself and someone whose full-time job is being attractive and having mass appeal. But let’s get realistic here, if your husband really did look like Brad Pitt, he would not be your husband. No, your husband isn’t Coke Zero to Pitt’s full-sugar-powered Coke. He’s not even Diet Coke. He’s a much flatter, home-made concoction that may have the same colouring, but the resemblance stops there. I would love to stick around to discourage you from making your way to your local park and putting in your bid to win 10 cigarettes. Because the sad truth is there are no winners at these events.
Unless you are me, and it’s a moonless night, and you scan my shadow with one eye squinted and a lemon squeezed in the other, and you might just spot Dua Lipa!
