Don’t Act, Reason #30: You will suffer endless humiliation.

Did I mention I dressed up like a butterfly?[1]

            You may remember the ad campaign.  The logo for Microsoft involves a blue butterfly, and the ad execs thought it would be funny to dress grown-ups as blue butterflies for part of a new marketing strategy.  The butterfly people appeared in various situations, always making the lives of regular people much easier.  (As a user of Microsoft’s software, I must say that I’ve often felt my life becoming just the opposite of easy as a result of bugs in the system.  And I don’t mean cute butterflies when I say “bugs.”  I mean big, ugly giant mutant spiders.  In my computer.)  Well, for their launch spot (the first in what would be several years’ worth of these butterfly spots) they needed a great director, so they hired a man named Phil Joanou.  When I heard from my agent that he was the director, I was very excited to audition for the spot (I would have auditioned for the spot regardless due to the irrefutable fact that I am a terrible whore, but this time I was actually excited which isn’t something that happens to me too often in regard to commercials.)  He directed two of my favorite movies, one an Irish gangster flick called State of Grace and the other a hugely underrated eighties teen comedy called Three O’clock High.  If I had been thinking more clearly, which I never do because I’m not very bright, I would’ve reacted in just the opposite way when presented with the opportunity to audition for this commercial.  But noooooo, I wanted to work with Phil Joanou!

            In the audition, I had to wear tights and strap on some wings from a child’s fairy costume.  I found this incredibly embarrassing—can’t imagine why—but I kept telling myself that if I booked the gig I would get to work with a great film director.  When I booked the job, I was excited to learn that not only would I get to work with Mr. Joanou, but I would also a get a free trip to my old stomping ground, New York City.  The first step of the process was a trip to Jim Henson’s Creature Shop in Burbank for a wardrobe fitting.  I was the first actor to dawn the butterfly costume, so the prototype was designed around my body.  I was a big fan of Henson’s work, especially The Muppets and The Dark Crystal, and I considered the chance to spend time at the place where so many of his imaginary creatures were designed to be yet another great perk to this job.

            And then reality came crashing down.

            I loved The Muppets as a kid, but I quickly learned that I didn’t so much enjoy being one myself.  The wardrobe fitting took an entire day (usually a wardrobe fitting takes about an hour or so) and I was in a body suit the entire time (you know how I feel about my bulbous mid-section, and being in a body suit amplified my shame twenty fold.)  I’m sure I looked ridiculous standing outside in the parking lot with the body of a butterfly and wings on my back, angrily taking a smoke break after being poked and prodded for four hours straight by absolute strangers.  That night, because the producers and ad agency weren’t satisfied with the way the costume was looking, I was flown to New York on a red eye in order to spend a couple more days taking the butterfly suit on and off directly in front of the people who had ordered it made.  The biggest problem with the suit, the problem that kept me taking it on and off and always in a body suit, was the crotch area.  It was described as too “Muppet-like,” which struck me as an odd criticism given what company had been hired to design it.  (If you don’t want a house to look like a saltbox, you don’t hire a contractor who does nothing but saltboxes.  If you don’t want a butterfly suit to look like a Muppet, then you don’t hire the people who do nothing but make fucking Muppets.)  I spent two full days having my crotch poked at by a group of men in business attire.  One of them even jokingly said to me, “You ever thought you would spend several days having your crotch poked by a bunch of men?”  I laughed because I am a major kiss ass, but I really didn’t find his comment funny in the least.  For reasons unclear to me, the women involved in the project kept their distance.

            At one point, after hours of frustration, I was taken outside onto the street so the butterfly costume could be seen in natural light since that was how the commercial was to be shot.  I stood out on that sidewalk, in gritty New York City, and I was both literally and figuratively blue.  I saw a group of what looked like college students walking down the opposite sidewalk, pointing and laughing at me.  One of them said, “That guy looks like a Muppet!”  A cabbie drove by and asked in a Brooklyn accent, “What are you s’posed to be, some kind of blue beetle or somethin’?”  Two guys in a truck passed by and one yelled, “Yo, wassup, faggot?!”  His friend laughed as if this was the wittiest comment he’d ever heard.

            Two days later, I was standing in a giant field with a gorgeous tree in the middle of it, and I was dressed up in the approved butterfly outfit, now complete with wobbly spring-mounted antennae.  There were dozens and dozens of extras, many of them children, and all spent the entire shoot smiling at me as if I was the cutest thing they’d ever seen.  I had only one line, and as I received direction from the director with whom I’d so desperately wanted to work, I realized I couldn’t impress him too much.  I had one line and I was dressed like a goddamn butterfly.

            And let me stress this point: this is just one of a multitude of examples of what I’ve been through since becoming a working actor.  And you know what makes the butterfly ordeal even more awful?  I was only in one spot.  All the other people who got cast as Microsoft butterflies did multiple commercials that ran a lot longer than mine (because the launch spot had an introductory storyline, it ran for only a short amount of time.)  I was paid so much less to humiliate myself than all the other butterflies!  I only did one spot!  They only used me in one spot after poking my crotch for a week! 

Oh my sweet Jesus, I just realized…was I a substandard butterfly?

            Fuck me.  I was a shitty butterfly.[2]

            But I was at least good enough to get hired a year and a half later for a Microsoft industrial video.  Of course, the campaign had been running for so long that at least a dozen different actors had worn the suit.  Wearing a giant suit made of heavy fabric and foam makes a man sweat profusely.  If they had attempted to launder the suit, they failed to get out the stink.  Every time I put the thing on I would gag.  This proves the age old theory that although grown men dressed as butterflies may be cute, they smell just plain awful.