My Life on the H List

The most identifiable characteristics of people with albinism are our light skin and white hair. This aspect of our appearance is known as hypopigmentation. Because of my hypopigmentation, I'm very easily recognizable in crowds and I'm pretty unforgettable, for many reasons. The unique pleasure people get from looking at me often makes me feel like I'm a famous person, plus people often stare at me in crowds and a couple times strangers have asked to take my picture. In many ways, because of my albinism, specifically my hypopigmentation, I think of myself as an H List Celebrity.

In high school, I spent my life on the run from imagined paparazzi, trying to stay out of the limelight as I snuck deep into the woods near my house to smoke cigarettes, the same way I imagine celebrities have to hide their cocaine use. One time I let my guard down and smoked outside the mall. Some lady I couldn't recognize but who knew me said she was gonna tell my mom. I masterfully covered with a bulletproof lie, saying I was holding the cigarette for someone else. Another time, on a break at my video store job, I was smoking a cigarette and my math teacher drove by and yelled at me, “Put that fucking thing out!” I didn't recognize him, but I knew his voice and his car. I didn't listen, though, because he had a reputation for showing up so hungover he bumped into desks and hitting on Juniors. Another time, my friend Gary and I had gotten drunk and walked to 7-11 in our boxers at 2am, just to get Gatorade and cigarettes, because the suburbs were so boring there was literally nothing else we could find to do. Weeks later, the cashier who begrudgingly helped us on that drunken 7-11 trip recognized me when I went in there with my Mom. Fortunately, he didn't speak English well enough to explain how he knew me and I was drugged out, having just had my wisdom teeth pulled, so I think maybe he thought I was mentally challenged. Either way, I got out of there without him telling my mom I was drunk, in my boxers in a 7-11 at 2am. It wasn't until college my H List Celebrity status really started to work for me.

With my white hair, broad shoulders and giant brass balls, it was a no-brainer that I should be the first among my friends to get a fake ID. I soon discovered a huge benefit to being recognizable. Once a liquor store, gas station or grocery store accepted my fake ID, they usually remembered me, so I never had to show my fake ID more than a couple of times. This significantly mitigated the risks of me being arrested. Being 18 and able to comfortably and consistently buy beer really helped my social life in college. There was even this liquor store in Boston where they mistook me for someone else. The first time I went, I approached the cashier with my 30 pack of Red Dog. He asked for my ID, then his manager walked around the corner with a huge smile. “You don't need to ID him, that's Jeff!” They then engaged in a debate about whether or not I was Jeff. I interjected, finally, “I'm Jeff's brother, Nathan.” They told me to tell my brother hello and sold me the beer. Every time I walked into that liquor store, which in college was basically daily, they always asked me about my brother. I'd always say he was doing well. To this day I don't know who the fuck they thought I was. Admittedly, there was one kid in Boston who looked exactly like me, but his name wasn't Jeff, it was Lars.

Lars went to Berklee College of Music, had white hair, smoked cigarettes and, though we never met, we wore the exact same leather jacket and boots. Because I had a friend who went to Berklee and became friendly with some folks who sold drugs there, I'd often be out front smoking and people would come up to me, assuming I was Lars. “You'll be at practice later,” stoned musician types would ask me until I glared at them and they realized I wasn't the man they thought I was. Lars and I only ever had one interaction; after all, the same matter can't occupy the same space. I walked by him one day, coming back from Tower Records as Lars stood out front of Berklee, smoking with some friends. As I walked by, I heard him say “We don't even look that much alike.” I couldn't help myself, I turned, stood right next to him and said, “Yeah, dude, we kinda do.” When I left Boston, I thought I was done with Lars, but after college I moved to New York City for a year to try to sell a novel. One drunken night I thought I saw Lars stumbling around the Village. I convinced myself it was my imagination until I got to graduate school in LA and was hanging out with a girl from the East Coast who said she knew this guy in New York who looked just like me. She said his name was Lars. I guess even on the H List, there are celebrity look-a-likes.

As a kid, other kids would always call me Santa Claus, which they meant as an insult but, given my round belly, white hair and generous spirit, I can't really deny the resemblance. My mom always told me I looked like Ralphie from A CHRISTMAS STORY but I think this was just a ploy to never buy me a BB gun. A drunk guy at a New Year's Eve Party once told me I look like John Lithgow, which is a horribly derogatory thing to hear as a 19 year old aspiring handsome person and the pains of this micro-aggression still limit my self esteem to this day. As I got older, I sometimes was told I looked like Phillip Seymour Hoffman and I even have a student now who tells me I sound just like him, though I gotta think these days I have a slightly better voice than him. A junkie on my old street in Chicago used to speak to me as if I were Elton John, asking me specific questions about the setlist from a show he attended in Milwaukee, Wisconsin in 1978. A girl in college once earnestly asked me if I was Gunther from FRIENDS. The most common celebrities I am told I resemble are Steve Martin and Jim Gaffigan, which actually functions as a great barometer for my own personal fitness level. When people tell me I look like Steve Martin, I know I'm exercising enough because they think of me as trim. When people tell me I look like Jim Gaffigan I know I need to drop the biscuits and get my fat ass on a treadmill ASAP. When I worked a wine shop, a woman approached me and quietly asked, “You're jIm Gaffigan, what are you doing here?” I told her I was researching a role. Only one time have people insisted I was someone they knew from movies. We were drunk at a party in LA and the conversation went like, “You're him, right?” “Who?” “The O Face Guy from OFFICE SPACE.” “No.” “Come on. You're him.” It took me a minute to know who they even meant, since OFFICE SPACE had come out like 8 years prior to this conversation and is totally overrated. Finally I said they were right and told them Jennifer Aniston is very nice and smokes a lot of weed.

I often wonder if I actually look like these people, or if it's sort of like how some people think all African-Americans or all Asian-Americans look the same. My most distinguishing characteristics are my hair, eyes and skin, so conceivably, if someone else had the distinguishing characteristics of pale hair, light eyes and clear, pale skin, he could reasonably be said to look a lot like me. Now that I'm just a middle aged white guy though, my star is predictably fading. Like so many famous people, I'm not as recognizable as I once was. On the whole, a little more anonymity is probably a good thing, but I do miss sneaking into the woods to smoke cigarettes.

Further Reading: The Fairest One of All