How to Become Famous in Two Weeks or Less Read online

  YOU CAN’T SAY THAT ON TELEVISION!

  Gail Parenteau, a PR guru and talent agent who represents model/Entertainment Tonight correspondent Roshumba, approached me one day to find out if I was media trained, which is industry-speak for “skilled in front of the camera.” Being media trained, to some extent, is natural for some, but being proficient about technicalities, such as working with an earpiece in a studio while talking to newscasters via satellite, requires education and practice. “You’d be great on TV. I just know it,” she said. She went on to tell me about satellite media tours, a new wave of television whereby someone hosts a segment by way of satellite, which is then broadcast to dozens of shows. It is really a marketing gig, albeit one that can pay up to $20,000 for a few hours of work. Besides, this was my chance to get on about twenty morning news shows in one day. If that’s not fame, what is?

  This is how it works. A company, like a toothpaste brand, will pay a satellite media firm to find an appropriate “talent” to talk about the product in a flattering way. The firm, in turn, contacts television stations across the country and pitches them a segment idea that revolves around the toothpaste (maybe it’s what brand celebs are using or how to get a Janet Jackson smile on the cheap—insider Hollywood tips). These pieces are filmed live, and while they require only four to five minutes of being on camera, the challenge for the talent is to say the right thing, making the few specified points in a subtle and poignant manner, in a very short period of time … without coming across as being too PR-y.

  Gail informed me that I’d have to “start low—four thousand dollars or so—because you’re new, but I’d love to get you going with this,” she said. Four grand! Just enough for the Dior leather jacket I coveted! If that was starting low, I was game—even if Gail would get the requisite 15-percent agent fee. I had made two television cameos in the past, but I figured I had learned my lessons and would never make a stupid mistake on camera again. “I’m not media trained,” I confessed, “but I’ve definitely done my share of television work.”

  After an interview with the satellite media company, I was hired to talk about “getting the celebrity beauty secrets on the cheap.” The day before the tour began, I was introduced to the three products I’d be plugging and the three to five points to make about each. It sounded simple in theory. We began to rehearse. Everything seemed to run smoothly. The hair product smelled great because of the grapeseed oil; the skin care regimen was quick and easy: the cleanser removed dirt and makeup, and the cream was packed with SPF 30 and vitamins E, C, and D; and the toothbrush, a $10 battery-operated number, was equipped with fixed and oscillating bristles and was just as good as the $100 electric version—just brush three minutes every morning and three minutes every night and you’ll be smiling like Courteney Cox in no time.

  I thought I’d have no problem at five o’clock the next morning when the real shows began. But when you have only forty-five seconds to discuss the individual products—in front of a blank wall because you’re in a studio, removed from the station that’s broadcasting you—and you’re working with an earpiece and bouncing off of a faint voice through a wire, I quickly discovered how difficult doing media tours could be.

  I had to do my few-minute bit repeatedly for five straight hours, one after the other after the other. And because the segments were live, they had to be perfect. If I had the hiccups or an uncontrollable yawn, the entire viewing audience was going to be a part of that magic. The pressure was on. My first time was … well … average. I got a little nervous … okay, very nervous. In fact, the words got so mumbled as they emerged from my mouth that I actually screeched (loudly!), “Aaaaah,” to center myself and continue. I could tell that the team who monitored everything from behind the two-way mirror was not happy with my performance. I felt like an Olympic-gold-bound gymnast who nails her routines perfectly during practice and falls smack on her head on the beam when competition begins.

  By round three, however, I was getting the hang of it. As time passed, it got easier. Until round twelve in Salt Lake City. I was feeling so loose and natural that my real personality came out. I stopped acting in a staged way and began to talk to the camera as if it were my friend. “Who the hell wants to use three types of products to cleanse in the morning instead of one?” I asked. I even threw in the perfect catchphrase they all wanted me to say: “Turn into a drugstore cowgirl and you’ll be red-carpet ready—without breaking the bank—in no time!” I smiled in triumph.

  On the break, the producer emerged from his box behind the two-way mirror. He was red in the face and screaming, “You can’t say ‘hell’ in Salt Lake City! What were you thinking?”

  “Did I say that?” I asked.

  “You did. Come see this tape,” he barked. I watched in horror at my mistake. The H-word was so pronounced, it was as if it were the only thing I uttered. H-E-L-L! It echoed in my brain. “It must have slipped,” I said, “I’m sorry.”

  I felt like such a failure for the rest of the day. Being the perfectionist that I am, I tortured myself over my faux pas. But when I got a copy of my reel, there was a bit from CNN that rocked. I killed! In one three-minute chunk of time, I nailed all of the points the media-tour client wanted me to make, and I added in a few celebrity Botox jokes, to boot. I looked natural on camera. I was bubbly without being annoying. My red sweater looked fantastic on air. My hair and makeup looked ideal. I was so confident through my segment that I even did “the lean” with my right elbow on the display table. As I signed off, the CNN reporter said with a laugh, “Easy for her to say all that—she looks like she’s twenty-four.” There it was—words of approval for all the world to hear. My mother called me, screaming, “My famous daughter, my famous daughter! You were gorgeous on air. You even wore the right bra!”

  I have such an amazing segment on film from CNN that a producer from MTV saw it and called to talk about putting me on the air. And another producer wants to set up a meeting to possibly develop my own show! So who the hell cares if I made a few mistakes along the way?

  TELEVISION APPEARANCES

  It’s not enough to smile and have good posture in order to look great on TV. There’s an entire science to how to stand, where to stare, and how to carry yourself so you don’t look like a novice—or a fool. Here’s how to get with the program.

  • Wear solid colors. They show up better on camera than prints. Try not to go all-black, as it may wash you out on camera. And avoid white at all costs. It looks ghastly on TV.

  • Don’t trust mirrors. Take a Polaroid before you go on air to make sure you look okay.

  • Record your voice with a tape recorder and listen to it. Watch out for pronunciation mishaps and perfect them before you go live. Also, on camera you should never talk too quickly. Pace yourself at a rate of roughly ten seconds for every fifteen words.

  • Don’t look directly into the camera. Instead, talk to the host or whomever speaks to you. And if you’re being filmed in a studio, sans interviewer, act as if someone is standing to the right of the camera, pick a spot on the wall, and talk to it.

  • Make a concerted effort to restrain from fidgeting and indulging in nervous habits like hair twirling, cuticle picking, scratching, and touching the part of your body that is close to the microphone clip (that hinders the sound).

  • Be expressive. Use your hands. You have to be “on.”

  • When crossing your legs while sitting, point them at an angle, preferably toward the host (it makes for inviting body language). If your legs directly face the camera, they will look fat.

  • If all else fails, seek media training. There are companies that will school you on everything you need to learn from A to Z, though it might cost $1,500.

  IT’S ALL ABOUT IMAGE

  WHAT’S IN A NAME?

  By night four of our two-week challenge, I was so down with the program that it became natural for me to breeze right past the velvet ropes as if I were born to be inside. When I walked with such confidence (and a
very short skirt), no one stopped me. On my journey of nights out, I wound up in the VIP room of a club called Suite Sixteen, a plush den with red banquettes that often double as the dance floor for hard-partying players. I chatted up the club’s owners, Noah and Jason, two well-connected, twenty-something club promoters/marketeers who have an impressive Rolodex bigger than the waiting list for a Balenciaga handbag. The guys mentioned something about the birthday party I recently had—and the fact that it was covered in the New York Post.

  “We want to know if you’d host our year-anniversary party,” they asked. Hosting that kind of event really means nothing more than, “Can we put your name on the invitation?” And the fact that they asked to use my name in order to kick the party appeal up a notch confirmed that there was K.Ro hype and it was spreading. For the sake of continuing to put myself out there, I said yes (it was an honor to just be nominated). We celebrated with a bottle of Cristal. After two glasses, I pulled a high-maintenance act and asked for some things I, the host, wanted: a table in the middle of the VIP area, enough free champagne to satisfy my entourage of ten, and car service to and from the event. They agreed to my terms (if you count “take a taxi” as providing car service). And we shook hands to seal the deal.

  The following week, over two thousand sleek blue-and-white invitations were mailed to the city’s coolest hipsters, models, socialites, and celebs, including Mark Wahlberg, Alicia Silver-stone, and Ralph Fiennes. The party would certainly be covered in all of the gossip sections, and there would be no way they could dutifully write about it without mentioning that I was hosting. Soon everyone would know me. My answering machine was flooded with phone messages from people who got the invitation and couldn’t believe that I, the girl who always leaves the party first, was hosting such a wild (and late) night. Even my parents, who live in Florida, heard the news and called me. “Our famous daughter is hosting a party and we weren’t invited!” (The son of a family friend told his parents, who spread the rumor to mine!)

  I was ecstatic.

  Then I took a close look at the invitation. My name was misspelled! Instead of Robinovitz, I was Rabinovitz. I was sick to my stomach, recalling something Madonna once said: “It doesn’t matter if you get good press or bad press … as long as they spell your name right.” Oops.

  LANDING ON SKID ROW

  It was the first time I was going to be on TV. The publicist for my novel had booked me and Kim DeMarco, my friend and the illustrator of the book, on a local talk show called, and I kid you not, Jersey’s Talking! We were psyched! We’d never been on television before. Who cared if it was a local channel in the wilds of New Jersey, accessible only to those within a ten-mile radius of exit 11. At least it wasn’t cable access! We were on a bona fide news program. My publisher sent a limousine to pick us up. Three hours later we were lost on the Jersey Turnpike. I kept calling the show’s producer to get directions. When we finally arrived at the studio, Kim and I were surprised at how laid-back everyone was. They didn’t even seem to care that we were late! They waved us over to the taping as if we had just strolled in for a chat.

  The studio consisted of a panel, a backdrop, and two chairs. The host was a genial gray-haired gentleman. We were going to be on right after a lady NASCAR driver, who was droning on about her life “on the track.” Kim and I watched the lady NASCAR driver on the monitors. She was wearing a bright yellow suit jacket, full makeup, and big hair. Sounds frightening, right? But she looked incredible on television. It was my first inkling that maybe, just maybe, I should have left my Skid Row T-shirt at home.

  My novel was about a kooky fashionista—someone who’d wear thigh-high boots, ostritch feathers, and a hooded sweatshirt to the supermarket, and I wanted to embody the spirit of the character—the cheeky irony and offhand cool of mixing several different “influences” in one outfit. Which is why I was wearing a rhinestone-studded Skid Row concert T-shirt and a choker of chunky Chanel pearls for my first television appearance. It was ironic chic! High-low! Low-fi! Fi fi! I thought I looked the bomb.

  The Nascar lady was done, and Kim and I were invited up to the panel. Two assistants “miked” us. They clipped tiny microphones to our shirt collars, the wires snaking down our backs underneath to receivers we stuffed down our pants. The host greeted us amiably. Kim and I sat down and got comfortable. They asked us to speak into our mikes to test them. Suddenly a voice from the control room sounded: “It’s not going to work.”

  The host shook his head. “You—he motioned—” “you’ve got to take off the pearls; they’re clanking against the microphone.”

  Take off the pearls? Excuse me? If I took off the pearls, my whole high-low, low-fi, ironic chic fashion statement was nil. Boof. Nada. If I took off the pearls, I would be making my first television appearance … in a Skid Row T-shirt! Without the pearls, I would cease to be a fashionista and just look like … a metalhead!

  Which is exactly how I made my first television appearance. In a stupid Skid Row T-shirt. I looked like an overweight teen who still had a fixation for Sebastian Bach. My entire glamorous and fun persona was stripped away with my pearls, which were not TV-appropriate and microphone-friendly. Next time I’m on TV, I’ll be wearing big hair, full makeup, and a bright yellow suit jacket.

  IMAGE CONTROL!

  HOW TO MANAGE YOUR PERSONA AND BECOME AN ICON

  • Overexposure is a no-no. When you’re in the media too much, you will be known as a press whore. And no one will take you seriously. Backlash is not pretty.

  • As you acquire fame, pick and choose your events carefully. You never want to wind up with the adjective ubiquitous before your name.

  • As you reach full-blown fame, associate with people who will enhance your reputation, even if you can’t stand them. Stick to parties where the guest list is at your level—or above.

  • Only date up. You don’t want to canoodle with anyone who’s beneath you in the totem pole (horizontal canoodling, however, is acceptable).

  • If you don’t have something nice to say, say it in private. You will be slammed for slamming others publicly.

  • Learn the art of announcing, “No comment,” with grace.

  • Hold your liquor. You don’t want a reputation as a hard-partying drunk.

  • Make sure people spell your name right. (See Karen’s anecdote.)

  • Always have a good lawyer on your side.

  • If you do something stupid—and get negative attention for it—hire a publicist who specializes in controlling your media image.

  • If none of these things is working well for you, screw up your image (release an X-rated tape of you and your boyfriend, peddle it on-line, and then make a public statement about how someone must have broken into your home, stolen it, and violated you). Once you have the attention of your peers, you can strategically change your image and become everyone’s sweetheart.

  Days 10–12:

  THE SCHMOOZE FACTOR

  The schmooze is part flattery, part small talk, and 100 percent charm. If you’re a wallflower, shake off that caterpillar shell and make a 180-degree turn to social butterfly. Only people who are incredibly famous can afford to become hermits, like JD Salinger, who is so famous for being a recluse that he has made his daughter, his son, and his estranged former eighteen-year-old mistress famous, too. Unless you’re planning to become a notoriously moody literary phenomenon, a critically praised legend who writes novels that are studied in high school English classes, you’re going to need some help. In this world of ego and ambition, staking your claim on fame is about having a larger-than-life personality—one that sucks the oxygen out of any room and guarantees all eyes will always be on you. You’ll need to learn how to chat it up, so practice your exuberant “Hello, so lovely to meet yous” in front of the mirror before you take it public. Put on a happy face, perfect interesting—but inoffensive—opinions, and manufacture a likable, extroverted, captivating persona that will not only enable you to meet tons of people, but—better yet�
�make tons of people want to meet you.

  This chapter will serve as your instruction sheet to schmoozing, the time-honored techniques that will serve you well in your pursuit of stardom. You’ll learn whom to schmooze from the bottom to the top rung of any social ladder. Today’s assistant editor is tomorrow’s executive producer, so don’t forget to keep close and friendly ties with those who have potential to make it, even if they’re interns when you first encounter them.

  These pages will also teach you to take note of your social environment. Are you hanging out with friends who can possibly help you on your way to iconization? Fame is a phenomenon that is often bestowed on groups at a time—Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, and William S. Burroughs were deadbeat Ivy Leaguers who used to hang out in cold-water tenements, shoot heroin, and write poetry, but they all became famous together once one of them hit the spotlight. When John Goodman, Dana Delany, and Bruce Willis were struggling actors, they hung out together at a bar on the Upper West Side, singing piano tunes until the wee hours of the morning. Naturally, when one was “discovered,” it was just a matter of time before Hollywood found the other two (after all, they were standing right next to each other).

  Once you have the schmooze down pat, we will teach you to use your new talent to build a network of helpful contacts. While schmoozing successfully will make you likable, your contacts will make you famous. But you have to be careful not to go overboard and fall into the trap of overschmoozing, which can quickly backfire and brand you a grasping social climber, a reputation you can definitely live without. But don’t worry; we will explain all of the things you need to avoid doing so you never come off as an insincere, sycophantic player who’s only out for herself.