…I would have exactly one dollar, because I've only been asked once. But that seems like more than enough, right? This was back during my makeup artist days and it was for some terrible independent short film, a kind of "safe sex" mockumentary informercial, and a character was supposed to hallucinate a pregnancy that ended in a teenage boy being born. "I want him to be, like, covered in placenta," the director told me in our initial meeting. "Like his hair should be dripping wet from placenta."
Listen, the best thing about working as a makeup artist is you learn to never tell your boss "no," you say, [...]
The first time I met Bill Murray, I was 18 years old and wearing a miserable brown ensemble.
The garments belonged to my mother, and for unknown reasons I had filched them to add to my own wardrobe in New York: a chocolate, polyester blouse, light-washed jeans, and mahogany, backless loafers in the style of re-imagined Mary Janes. I had just moved to the city for college and the independent film I interned for consisted of a tidy editorial crew (Editor, Assistant Editor, and me.) Rather than cool clothes, I outfitted myself with that spirited, blind alacrity only youth affords. I was thrilled to work on a real film—in the [...]