This was supposed to be an article giving advice to incoming freshmen on their first day of class. But then I thought that freshmen have been getting advice from everyone. They’ve received mailings for months. There have been orientations and pre-orientations.
There are numerous books and online resources from and for the millions of incoming college students. There are residential advisors, residential college directors, residential computer consultants, peer advisors, four-year advisors, deans, upperclassmen, roommates, suitemates, dormmates, classmates, professors, teaching assistants, family, and old and new friends all offering advice. And if, after all that, they still have the slightest doubt about something, they can ask someone. Anyone. Washington University Police officers, Bon App‚tit workers, campus bookstore employees. There’s that Uncle Joe’s thing I always walk by. Cornerstone, too. If none of those work, they can ask random people; I’ve been here two years, and I am still constantly surprised by how nice the people are here, and how eager they are to help.
So instead of offering advice to freshmen, I will give my advice to a tragically under-advised set of people: incoming students with a silly teenage crush on the Orbit Gum girl.
One late night in December of 2003, while procrastinating finishing my college application by browsing through The Internet Movie Database’s forums, I came across a (since purged) thread about the movie “Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World.” A question on the origins of baseball as pertaining to a brief scene in this movie had degenerated into a spam-filled flame war on topics including sports, cinema, Hollywood, etiquette, war, terrorism, politics, and cultural egocentrism. Out of all this, a point of consensus somehow emerged: “Full points to the forebears of the people of the British Isles for producing the language that gave us the words of Chaucer, Shakespeare, Shelley, Dickens, Austen, Wilde, Churchill, Bowie, French & Saunders, and that unbelievably perky blonde in the Orbit Gum commercials.” No matter what the opinion of any other, none could dispute the transcendence of the Orbit Gum girl.
College dorms are saturated with posters and obsessive thoughts of Angelina Jolies and Jessica Albas. How to be a fan of such well-established celebrities is common knowledge. But you are different. You’ve heard your calling, and it is sweet; it is a most enchantingly captivating lilt, with British intonation tingeing a most heavenly aural sensation, in a body and mind no less deserving of superlatives. A merging of the aesthetically pleasing actress/spokesmodel and the intelligent double-majored college graduate. It is a voice resonating like a natural force, in commercials as difficult to capture as lightning: brief, unpredictable and memorable.
And there is a spectrum of wonder to discover beyond her namesake commercials. A recurring cameo in the “Pirates of the Caribbean” movies. A speaking extra in “John Q.” A flashback role on “Lost.” A dual role on a cancelled soap opera. The first to depart a failed reality show pilot. A guest star on a UPN comedy. Not to mention the literature of interviews which the patient fan can assemble through meticulous research requiring the most capable library.
No matter how many times you insist to yourself and others that you are perfectly entitled to a silly teenage crush, you will question it, especially as the day approaches when the teenage crush would no longer be perfectly entitled. Until then, it will take time to realize that there really is no shame in admitting it. For you’ve already done the hardest part: you’ve figured out what you like, you’ve figured out what you want, you’ve figured out what pleases you. You’ve identified your passion.
But how does one dare approach such a figure? Simple. The same factor that makes her so intimidating also ipso facto makes her approachable – she is a celebrity. Fan letters are written all the time by the millions of Americans who adulate such figures much more notable than the Orbit Gum girl. So for someone like her, who admittedly lacks the same degree of fame as the typical fan letter recipient, the value would be all the more. She wants the praise you wish to praise her with. She wants the recognition you wish to recognize her with.
You need not know exactly what you are asking for in your fan letter. It may simply be the typical sign of the fan: an autographed piece of paper, which, albeit ordinary, holds meaning. Perhaps an autographed gumwrapper, or something more visual, like posters or calendars. Or maybe, somehow, some of the media featuring her. Best would be a personalized response, especially something aural. One word worth a thousand pictures. The harm is not in asking the wrong thing; the harm is not asking. Personalize your appeal. You are unique. She is unique. Meld your experiences with her canon, and express the result.
A voice that radiant will be heard. It must be heard. Discover it. Listen to it. Reply to it. And no matter what you may think, you’re not alone.
Danny is a junior in Arts & Sciences. He can be reached via email at [email protected].