Growing up I went through a phase where I decided I was going to be an actress. I saved my money and bought a book at Barnes & Noble on how to start a career in film and television. Of course, I did not become famous or an actress for that matter. Instead, I found myself a career in technology in Silicon Valley. I never imagined that one day tech would be my bridge to Hollywood and land me at the Golden Globes.
On the day of, I arrived at the Beverly Hilton, home to the Golden Globes for over 50 years, donning a new black dress I had purchased for the event. In some ill attempt at glamour, I curled my hair, a decision I was regretting. Barring the unfortunate hair situation, I was feeling good. I was more svelte than normal having just overcome a wretched stomach flu. And I was thinking the thing I knew you weren’t supposed to say, “thank goodness for that pre-event weight loss.”
The whole event was over-the-top grandeur akin to a Gatsby party. Moët & Chandon champagne flowed freely on the carpet. Megawatt lights dangled from above and backlit the Red Carpet. Cameras were everywhere, as not to miss a moment of the excitement. I was hooked and my inner wannabe child star was flipping out. It was like magic; you know it isn’t real, but you still want to believe.
“Get the hell out of the way,” a photog screamed at me.
That was enough to pull me out of my momentary dreamlike state. I quickly jogged past the cameras until I was safely out of view of any lenses.
I would learn that was just the beginning of the yelling from the paparazzi. As people began to arrive the noise increased several decibels. For most of the stars you heard their names being shouted long before you saw them. I swear their ears must have rang all night with echoes of their own name.
Having watched award shows on television, I assumed the Red Carpet was miles long. In fact, the distance from limo to front door is relatively short, but the process is tedious. Walk a few steps. Stop. Interview. Walk a few more steps. Pose for a picture.
The women were dripping in jewels and swathed in fine fabrics. Their skin was of two varieties – a sun kissed glow or a creamy porcelain color. They were epitome of glamour. And every man was like James Bond neatly groomed and wearing a tuxedo.
For hours the who’s who of Hollywood filed past me. Every now and then I would get a nod or smile, a quite acknowledgement of my presence. Perhaps the apex of the evening was when Mike Tyson softly spoke hello to me.
The experience was over in a flash. As quick as we exited the Red Carpet it was all being dismantled. The lights went out. The carpet was rolled up. The spell was broken. But that is Hollywood for you – a glittering mirage.
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