I recently was in a training where the icebreaker was “Have you ever met a celebrity?” The question unlocked one of the most horrifying moments of my life. I mean, like any great icebreaker question should do.
Before I get into the actual tragedy, though, you need context.
Growing up I was OBSESSED with Star Wars. I am an 80s baby, so absolutely no one else in my age cohort even knew what it was. I was born in ’85, two years after Return of the Jedi, and a full 14 before the trainwreck that is the prequel trilogy.
My brothers had collected Star Wars toys, though, so the moment I found a Darth Vader action figure, I was sucked in.
WHO IS THIS? WHAT IS GOING ON? I LOVE ALL OF IT!
I watched the movies all the time; I played with the action figures; I went as Luke Skywalker for Halloween. When I’d have sleepovers at friends’ houses, I’d force them to watch the movies and then demand we play Star Wars after. I subscribed to the Star Wars Insider magazine.
I was full-blown, balls-to-the-wall obsessed. When that trainwreck prequel trilogy came out? I saw Episode I four times in theaters, often alone, because everyone else had way better taste than me. I even bought the book and the video game for Phantom Menace. Still one of the most questionable times in my life.
Of course, at the top of this Star Wars pyramid was the legend himself, George Lucas. I grew up in a religious household, so, in my mind, it was God, Jesus, The Holy Spirit, George Lucas, and Mickey Mouse.
I thought George was an absolute genius. And I was incredibly grateful to him: as a weird, high-pitched-voiced gay kid in rural Illinois, Star Wars was my escape. I could get made fun of on the bus every day but then run home and go to a galaxy far, far away.
Well, flashforward to my early-30’s. I’m at a Janet Jackson concert with a bunch of my friends. We were mingling in our seats before the show, and I see this man walk by.
“Who’s that guy with the dumb George Lucas haircut?” I asked.
You know who it was?
Yes, correct: IT WAS GEORGE LUCAS. GEORGE LUCAS WAS THERE AND HEARD ME INSULT HIM AND TURNED AROUND.
I don’t think he knew it was me. He scanned the crowd and never locked eyes with me, so… I think I’m safe? Also, when will I ever be close enough to George Lucas again for this to matter?
Anyway, I absolutely melted. I had insulted the man that was two-steps from Jesus in my childhood circle of deities. WHAT HAD I DONE?
I wanted to run after him and maybe apologize? The reason I said it was because it was dumb to get a George Lucas haircut. Who would go into a salon and be like “Give me the George Lucas. All the salt-n-pepper swirls, please.”
It just wouldn’t make sense. That’s why I said it was a dumb haircut. It’s the equivalent of asking for the “Princess Leia” any day that’s not Halloween. Carrie Fisher owned that haircut. It’s iconic and incredible, but like, who do you think you are if you get it on a Tuesday in June?
George, if you’re reading this, I think your haircut looks great! I really do! I am very sorry for insulting you casually on a night when you just wanted to see the amazing Miss Jackson with your wife! IT WAS NOT COOL. Had I insulted The Phantom Menace, though, I think I’d be feeling all right.
Well, anyway, that’s the story that caused me to go full-blown pale, sweaty horrified during our team icebreaker session at work.
I don’t know what deity-George would request as penance, but I think a start could be locking myself in a room and watching The Phantom Menace four times in a row. I did it once, I can do it again.
Praise his haircut and his holy name: I vow to make things right.