Twin idols fall short, even in heels

Like many fellow students, I grew up in the ’90s, influenced by shows like Boy Meets World and pop sensations like the Spice Girls. My true idols growing up, however, were neither Topanga nor Posh ““ they were the Olsen twins. I would have done anything to meet them, and last Wednesday I was given that opportunity. Sadly, the girls literally fell short of expectations, disappointing both my eight-year-old and current selves.

The duo popped into Borders in Westwood for a signing of their new coffee table book “Influence.” Despite their recent hiatus from show business, the place was packed, with 500 people waiting in a line that wrapped around the store. As I waited patiently for the twins to show up, I actually started to get nervous. That feeling of anxiety that is usually associated with job interviews and midterms crept up in the pit of my stomach. I knew I was being ridiculous, but I couldn’t help feeling like I was about to meet the president.

Growing up, I watched these girls conquer it all, whether it was scary monsters in their mystery-movie series or teenage villains in their feature films. They were always smart, adventurous, stylish and successful … or at least their characters were. It wasn’t until I met them that I realized they are just actors, and the lovable characters they played were crafted by scriptwriters.

My idolization, even worship, of these icons didn’t seem absurd until they walked into Borders in about three-inch heels, their heads barely at my shoulder level. They were no longer gigantic images projected on a television screen, but rather petite people looking self-important and heavily made-up. They made their way to the front of the store and sat down to autograph.

For celebrities who supposedly love their fans, they hustled through the signing as if it were an assembly line. Each fan walked up, was greeted hurriedly, and got a big Sharpie “M” and “A” on the front cover of the book. No photos were allowed, and as soon as the girls signed the book, each fan was shuffled toward the exit. I literally used to dream about the chance to meet these legends. When I got to the front of the line, Mary-Kate gave me a tired “hello” while Ashley thanked me for waiting.

By the end of the night, I couldn’t remember why I had wasted so much time watching Full House reruns. Meeting my childhood idols was disappointing, in part because of the high expectations that I set. A big part of the allure, though, was that I wanted to be like them. I imitated their style of clothes and haircuts, and my friends and I used to play detectives just like they did in their videos.

Meeting them made me realize that I would never want their lives. Not only do they look ridiculous, like a set of life-size Bratz dolls, but their actions are constantly in the public eye. Despite their complaints about the paparazzi, I always thought they were just being a bit whiny. After seeing a glimpse of their lives at the book signing, I came away with a sense of pity.

The photographers were extremely annoying, but, even worse, some of the fans themselves were disturbing. It looked like there were far more middle-aged men in line than young girls, and I even met one forty-something guy who had driven down from Northern California early that morning for the event. I get freaked out when an older guy looks at me strangely ““ imagine having fans who set up Web sites counting down the days until you turn 18.

Putting myself in the Olsens’ ridiculously expensive shoes, I would have to say the worst part of the night was leaving the building amidst crowds of PETA protestors. The activists wore Mary-Kate and Ashley paper masks and held up signs calling the twins “fur hags.” One sign read “Hairy Kate and Trashley Olsen: Fur Tramps.” Posts about the Olsens on the Internet make the protestors’ language seem tame. Seeing these activists made me question yet again why I ever wanted to have their lives. While I may not enjoy the luxuries of stardom, or have any little girls worship me, at least I know that there aren’t strangers out there who hate me with a passion.

After a long night of being presented with harsh reality, I walked back to my dorm and chuckled at the thought that just a few hours earlier I had wanted to be those girls. The funny part is, they would probably kill to be normal college students.

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Interested in purchasing old VHS copies of Holiday in the Sun and Passport to Paris? E-mail Goodrich at [email protected]. Send general comments to [email protected].