Category: Writing
You can’t be 50 in Hollywood
I had been living in New York for several years, writing young adult novels. But I wanted to move to Los Angeles. I needed a change of scenery, and I wanted to try screenwriting.
A friend connected me to a guy who had spent several years in L.A. pursuing film and TV writing. I called the guy and told him my plan.
The hair dye felt like it was burning my scalp. After I rinsed it out, my whole head glowed. Did it make me look younger? I guess it did. But it also made me look like a clown.
He said: “How old are you?”
I said 49.
He said, “That’s too old. You can’t be 50 in Hollywood. You’ll need to lie about your age.”
Then he asked me if I had gray hair. I said I did. He said I would need to dye it.
I said, “But George Clooney has gray hair. Doesn’t it look distinguished?”
He said I would definitely want to dye it. “Everyone dyes their hair in L.A. Get a good hairdresser.”
*******
He continued relating his experiences. He listed the dangers of Hollywood. They steal your ideas. They lie. They pretend to be your friend. I would need a good lawyer, and a manager, and an agent.
Most of this I already knew. But the “you can’t be 50 in Hollywood” part: I hadn’t heard that before.
Reelin’ In the Years
After we hung up, I thought about the age problem. I had already “adjusted” my age once while I was writing young adult novels.
I did this after attending a book festival, where I saw that all the other young adult authors were generally in their 20s and 30s. I was at least a decade older than most of them.
So I shaved five years off my Facebook age. Just in case anybody looked. And then I did the same thing when I filled out the publicity questionnaires for my publisher.
But the age problem got worse when I arrived in L.A. The first screenwriter I met with was 24 and looked like he was in high school. When I got home from that meeting, I went on Facebook and shaved three more years off my birthday.
When I did this, a little notice popped up, informing me that this would be the last time I would be allowed to change my birthday on Facebook.
So now, I was 41 according to Facebook, 44 according to my New York publisher, and 49 according to my driver’s license and the IRS.
This was a lot to keep track of. It made for some awkward moments on first dates.
Gray matters
It didn’t take long to realize that in Hollywood — where lying is considered “self-care” — what people really judged you on was your looks.
So then I considered my appearance. My hair was pretty gray. Should I try dyeing it?
I went to Ralphs and bought a box of Clairol Nice’n Easy hair dye. I went for espresso brown, which seemed closest to my original hair color.
I set up shop in my bathroom. I put on the gloves and followed the instructions on the box, mixing the chemicals and smearing them onto my head. It was a messy business.
The hair dye felt like it was burning my scalp. After I rinsed it out, my whole head glowed. Did it make me look younger? I guess it did. But it also made me look like a clown.
*******
I flew back to New York soon after, and a female friend immediately noticed the change. She said: “It’s true what they say; you look 10 years younger!”
That was nice to hear. But I was alarmed that she noticed it instantly. From 50 feet away.
Another friend didn’t believe me when I told her it was dyed. She had to look closer and touch it until she saw that I was telling the truth.
I was still trying to get used to it myself. Every time I saw my reflection, I startled myself. Who’s that guy with the dye job?
RELATED: The left wants to ‘reclaim’ the American flag; did they run out of lighter fluid?
Blake Nelson
Pro tips
Back in L.A., I spotted a sign in a hair salon near my apartment: “Dye and Haircut $80.” Maybe this was the solution: getting your hair dyed by a professional.
I would like to say this was a luxurious, pampering experience. It was not. The hairdresser roughed me up pretty good. And then I had to sit there for 40 minutes, in sight of people walking by the window, with a giant plastic covering over me and my thinning hair wrapped in tin foil.
And then, after all that, it looked no different from the Clairol dye job I had given myself for $9.99!
*******
Still, I stuck with it, re-dyeing it every six weeks — like it said on the box — for most of a year.
During this time, I kept a watchful eye out for other men with dyed hair. I was definitely not alone. At the beach, you would see aging “surfer dads” with dyed blonde hair and a skateboard under their arms. It wasn’t a terrible look. As long as you wore Vans and board shorts.
And of course, men who were on TV or acted in movies always dyed their hair. I’d see these men everywhere. Or I’d see guests on late-night talk shows who looked like they had just had it done an hour before. Their hair had that blurry, fresh-dye glow.
I became skilled at spotting dye jobs on either sex. I hadn’t realized how many women dyed their hair: basically all of them, after about 30.
The good news was that nobody thought less of a man for dyeing his hair. This was Los Angeles. Dyeing your hair meant you had a job.
All is vanity
This wasn’t the case on the East Coast. New York City was the land of the silver fox. Being a well-dressed, gray-haired, 50-year-old male was highly desirable. It meant you were rich!
In fact, it was in New York that a couple of female friends intervened and informed me that the hair-dye thing wasn’t working. I looked better being gray.
After that, my vanity took over, and when I returned to L.A., I shaved my head and released myself back into middle age.
Once I let myself go gray again, another Los Angeles acquaintance told me she thought I looked much better. She said the dye job made me look untrustworthy, like a used-car salesman.
*******
So that was a relief. But the real relief didn’t come until many years later, when I retired from writing and went back home to Portland and returned to total normalcy.
In retirement, I didn’t have to be young; I didn’t have to be cool. I could just be an old, gray-haired person like everybody else.
Though on Facebook — thanks to its birthday-changing restrictions — I remain a slightly younger and livelier version of myself.
‘Matrix’ co-creator: ‘Trans rage’ drives my work
At 57 years old, writer Lilly Wachowski is still doing a lot of soul-searching.
Born Andrew, and one-half of the famous Wachowski Brothers, Wachowski and his older brother, Lana (60), born Laurence, are known for their iconic movie series “The Matrix.”
Both claim to be transgender.
‘As a trans person, the dark question that I had as a trans person was, “Who will ever love this?”‘
Andy became Lilly in 2016, while Larry was four years ahead, becoming Lana in 2012. Since then, the duo have leaned into their new identities, going so far as to retroactively characterize “The Matrix” trilogy as a “trans metaphor” in 2020.
Freedom fried
During a recent interview on “So True with Caleb Hearon,” Lilly Wachowski took another look back at his previous work and explained that he has a new perspective that helps him see how his work got him to where he is now, in relation to his gender status.
I look back on all of my previous work, and I see it because I’m looking at it from this higher place. It just creates this different perspective from this point of view up here, and I can see “Bound” — the first shot of the movie is a closet. And it’s like, “Okay, it looks like we’re going to be working on some stuff.”
Noting that “The Matrix” was about “liberation and identity and, like, freedom,” Wachowski then repeated a liberal trope about making art that can “will things into being that you need to see in the world,” before further saying that his movies have also been about finding love, while also being subliminal instruments for transgender storytelling.
RELATED: Dave Chappelle calls out censorious transsexual activists who claim his jokes cause violence
“A lot of the things that me and Lana were also writing about was love — that we needed to create stories that gave us a grounding to see that love was possible,” Wachowski tried to explain. “As a trans person … the dark question that I had as a trans person was, ‘Who will ever love this?’ … And it gave us this reminder that there was a future for us.”
Mad for it
Wachowski also noted another powerful source of creativity his new identity has given him: “trans rage.”
In 2017, he and a partner began working on a trans-themed screenplay — a process he described as “purging all this rage and horror out of the world and onto this page.”
After a few years executive producing the Showtime series “Work in Progress” — a vehicle for comedian and self-described “masculine queer dyke” Abby McEnany — Wachowski returned to the script in 2021, finding “catharsis” in responding to a world he found had become “way s**ttier for trans people.”
Wachowski channeled some of his rage into “creating caricature[d] buffoons of the right wing.” He also used it to inspire a vision of “an idealized family, a network, a Weather Underground of trans people coming together and supporting each other and holding each other up, trying to create a story that is the best of us.”
Larry Wachowski, now Lana (L), and Andy Wachowski, now Lilly (R). Photo by Bob Riha Jr/WireImage
Flip-flop
Wachowski’s new creative direction hasn’t been great for the bottom line.
A fourth installment of the beloved Keanu Reeves saga, “The Matrix Resurrections,” flopped when released in December 2021, making only about $38 million on a $190 million budget.
That’s less than a third of the $139 million its predecessor, “The Matrix Revolutions,” pulled in 2004 — and a far cry from 2003’s “The Matrix Reloaded,” which took in over $280 million.
The first “Matrix” made $171 million in 1999.
