Illustration by Russ Tudor
Help! My Fake “Showmance” Is Turning Into the Real Thing!
Dear Remy,
For the last six months, I’ve been in a faux relationship with a pop star. I’m an actor—just breaking into the big leagues—and suddenly, I’ve got a whole “team” around me.
You know the drill: PR reps, private chefs, and even an aesthetician. (When I first heard that word, I thought they said “obstetrician” and nearly passed out. But apparently, an aesthetician deals with skin, not babies.)
Remy—have you ever met PR people? They’re terrifying. They talk at a speed beyond human comprehension. And my team quickly decided that a fake romance between me and another rising star—this pop singer—would be great PR for us both. So, cue the staged paparazzi photos of me backstage at her concert, fake shots of us boarding a private jet at Austin-Bergstrom, and cheesy snaps of us sharing a Stanley cup on 5th Avenue. (Two straws, one cup. Yikes.)
The problem? I’m actually head over heels for her. For real.
I daydream about braiding her hair, buying us matching slankets, and taking her out on a two-person pedal boat. I even fantasize about building her a cabin in the woods with a recording studio for her, a dojo for me, and a jetty for us to go fly fishing.
But here’s the kicker: I can’t tell anyone. My PR team has the whole relationship mapped out. We’re scheduled to “break up” around Thanksgiving (the Instagram announcement is already drafted, font and color scheme included), and after that, I’m supposed to stop shaving until Halloween to convince the public I’ve gone “off the rails.”
Remy, I’m lost. What should I do? I’m a hopeless romantic, and I’ve fallen for someone in a PR stunt.
Sincerely,
A Loved-Up Leading Man
Dear Loved-Up Leading Man,
Ah, yes. The wild world of PR. I’ve encountered PR folks before, and let me tell you—they can be terrifying, especially when they’re talking about “strategies” like your beard timeline. But let’s get serious for a moment.
You’re navigating a new level of fame, which comes with some PR theatrics, sure. But let’s not lose sight of something important: your feelings. You’re stuck between a rock and a hard place (or, in your case, between a private jet and a Stanley cup). PR can sometimes blur the lines between reality and narrative, but real emotions like yours need their own space to breathe.
First things first—talk to your team. PR folks often see clients as avatars in their media chessboard, but it’s time to remind them you’re human, not some starry-eyed Pac-Man gobbling up PR dots. Be honest about how this fake romance is affecting you mentally and emotionally. Transparency might lead to a better strategy that respects both your feelings and your career.
Lastly, ask yourself: does this romance have a shot outside of the limelight? Does your pop star dream of wood cabins and matching slankets? Does she even like fly fishing? These questions matter if you want a real relationship, not just a curated one for social media.
Keep me updated—I’m rooting for you to find a love that’s more than just PR stunts and Instagram filters.
Remy
My Job is Murder… Literally.
Dear Remy,
Einstein once said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. I’m convinced he was talking about murder documentaries.
I used to love being a documentary filmmaker—it’s taken me all over the world, flexed my academic muscles (I majored in Anthropology at Yale, with a minor in Primate Evolution), and allowed me to tell some unique stories.
But for the past five years, it’s been nothing but murder docs. Every day, it’s the same: filming drone shots of grassy marshlands where a Jane Doe’s shoe was found, interviewing coroners who all use the same haunting tone, and listening to the sad cello soundtracks that now dominate my Spotify algorithm. I even have the phone numbers of every pathologist from Seattle to Orlando saved in my contacts.
Frankly, I find the world’s obsession with murder disturbing. It’s as if humanity has gone “horny for homicide,” and I’m its reluctant supplier.
I thought I saw a light at the end of the tunnel when an old exec called me to ask if I wanted to try something new. But it turned out to be… a murder podcast.
Remy—help me. Do I keep going down this dark, bloody path, or do I quit while I still have some sanity left? I dream of doing a documentary on regenerative agriculture in the Lower Mekong. But who am I kidding?
Sincerely,
Stuck in a Dead-End Job
Dear Stuck in a Dead-End Job,
I feel your pain. Your world is colored in crime-scene tape, and I can see why you might want to film literally anything else—maybe a heartwarming story about alpacas?
But let’s not be too hasty. Murder documentaries are their own form of anthropology. They explore human behavior, social reactions, and even cultural taboos. The fascination with death is nothing new; humanity’s been obsessed with it since, well, forever. So, don’t be too hard on yourself for being a part of this genre—after all, it’s not like we’re still putting heads on spikes, right?
Maybe the problem isn’t the subject matter, but the fact that it’s become so formulaic. There’s more to these stories than crime scenes. What about the lives of those left behind? How do communities rebuild? Are there interesting, untold narratives within these tragedies that could reignite your passion?
Why not take the murder podcast offer but use it as a stepping stone to branch out? Simultaneously, start working on that Lower Mekong project. You never know—you might find a way to merge your two worlds. After all, who says the Mekong doesn’t have its own dark secrets?
Hang in there, and don’t declare time of death on your career just yet.
Remy
Am I Too Beautiful For My Own Good?
Dear Remy,
It pains me to be writing this, as I consider myself far above such things. But I have no choice.
To put it modestly, I am one of the most famous actresses in the world. I’ve been called a “screen darling,” a “Hollywood doyenne,” and even a “national treasure.”
Naturally, when a major studio approached me to make a biopic of my life, I agreed immediately. It would be a crime to deny the public my story.
But then came the horror: the casting process. The actresses they’re suggesting to play me are, frankly, insulting. Scrawny, quirky creatures that wouldn’t look out of place selling cleaning products on cable TV—certainly not headlining a box office hit.
Remy, must I accept that beauty like mine can’t be replicated? Should I just scrap the project and fire my agent (it would be my third one this year)?
Sincerely,
A Displeased Doyenne
Dear Displeased Doyenne
Hollywood casting is like dating. Sometimes, the perfect match isn’t obvious at first glance.
Casting directors look for more than just physical beauty (though it’s clear that’s your top concern). They consider the intangible qualities that make someone like you a true star. It’s not just about finding someone with perfect cheekbones or a camera-ready smile—it’s about capturing your essence. Think about it: your speech patterns, your unique gait, the way you throw a glance that could kill when someone dares bring you the wrong coffee. That’s what they’re trying to cast.
And let’s be honest—beauty standards have evolved since you first hit the scene. Hollywood isn’t all about glossy perfection anymore. That “quirky” actress you dismissed might surprise you with how well she captures the inner you, even if she’s not your physical twin.
As for your agent—maybe slow down on the firings. Going through three agents in a year is a red flag, even in this town. Keep an open mind, trust the process (yes, I know it’s a cliché), and remember that a biopic isn’t just about vanity—it’s about legacy.
Remy
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Remy Blumenfeld is a veteran TV producer and founder of Vitality Guru, which offers business and career coaching to high performers in media. Send queries to: guru@vitality.guru.
Questions edited by Sarah Mills.