It’s been a great year for people who look like other, more famous people. In recent months, social media has positioned A-list likeness as the ultimate status symbol, with contestants congregating from far and wide in hopes of being crowned the ultimate public figure dupe. Indeed, celebrity lookalike contests have taken the world by storm in 2024 — and it just might be the finest gift technological innovation has ever given us.
It started in the fall. On a late October day, thousands clustered in Washington Square Park to be named Timothée Chalamet’s twin. Droves of men with sharp facial features and tousled hair came together, some wearing top hats as a nod to Chalamet’s Willy Wonka stint and others holding harmonicas to honour Timmy’s upcoming Bob Dylan film. When the real Chalamet showed up, the event went from deeply unserious to iconically meta.
From there, a domino effect was set off, transforming extremely-online stan culture into IRL functions. Hundreds of hopefuls flocked to San Francisco’s Dolores Park to prove they best resembled Dev Patel. Dozens of modest-height muscular men descended upon a park in Chicago, clad in aprons and white T-shirts prove their likeness to The Bear’s Jeremy Allen White. A more compact crowd gathered to find Paul Mescal’s body double in Dublin, while scruffy-haired candidates assembled in London to prove their similarity to Harry Styles. These showdowns reliably lured in crowds of onlookers, influencers and news reporters ready to see how things might unfold.
On paper, the award for each competition is usually $50 and a plastic trophy. But on a holistic level, the payoff is priceless. Sure, there can only be one of every internet boyfriend. But being able to say you are the certified runner-up? Now that’s a flex. With every event, a winner was crowned and bragging rights were secured. Throughout this selection process, however, something much more important was unlocked: a cultural craving for silliness.
After all, haven’t we, as a society, suffered enough this year? Shoes got really weird. Biopics were overdone. Rihanna never came out with a new album. It’s bleak! As such, the rise of the lookalike contest is the social movement equivalent of buying yourself a little treat on a sluggish Monday. It’s unnecessary; it’s saccharine; it surely won’t sustain you. But you — nay, we — deserve it. As the Paul Mescal 2.0 champion said after securing his win, “I think it’s good to have events like these, as people are having a rough time.” Spoken like a true leading man.
Ultimately, such doppelgänger searches are a win-win for all parties. The successful participants walk away feeling significantly hotter, with perhaps a few phone numbers in hand and maybe even a talent scouter’s attention. For the celebrity being recognized, it offers an undeniable image boost, establishing them as a notable figure worth replicating. Perhaps that’s why Drake offered $10,000 to the winner of the Toronto lookalike contest in his honour.
What’s the deeper meaning to all of this, you ask? Pure silliness. Innocuous delusion. Nothing of real merit or underlying significance. Amid all the hard, serious stuff, the world was simply in need of some freakish whimsy in 2024. And as the Timothées teamed up and the Jeremys joined forces, low-stakes, fun-to-watch twin weirdness is just what we got.
Natalie Michie is the social media & market editor at FASHION Magazine. With a pop culture obsession, she is passionate about exploring the relationship between fashion, internet trends and social issues. She has written for Elle Canada, CBC, Chatelaine and Toronto Life. In her spare time, she enjoys reading and over-analyzing movies on TikTok.
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