What the f**k should I be doing right now? (Recap: April)

My manager once gave me a piece of advice that immediately made me want to crawl out of my skin.

She told me to pretend like I was famous.

And I hated it.

That reaction was immediate. Deeply embedded. Childhood-level embedded. The kind of thing where you realize you’re not responding to the advice in front of you, you’re responding to every moment you learned that being confident might make you unlikeable. Or too much. Or full of yourself. Or embarrassing. Or dramatic. Or “who does he think he is?”

And listen, actors already have a weird relationship with confidence.

We're expected to walk into rooms and be memorable, specific, emotionally available, camera-ready, vulnerable, professional, spontaneous, technically skilled, attractive but not trying too hard, unique but castable, confident but humble, ambitious but not desperate, and then somehow not have a nervous system response when no one responds to our audition.

Cute.

So when someone says, “Pretend like you’re famous,” it can sound like, “Become an asshole.”

But that’s not what she meant.

It wasn't in a “do you know who I am?” or “I’m sorry, I don’t make eye contact with people unless they’re verified” kind of way.

She meant: walk around like you already belong.

Carry yourself like people are expecting you. Like your presence is not an apology. Like you are not waiting for someone else to validate that you’re allowed to take up space.

Because famous people don’t have to be arrogant.

Some are. Obviously. We’ve all seen an interview where someone’s publicist was fighting for their life off-camera.

But fame itself isn’t the point.

The point is permission.

A famous person walks in the room with the assumption that they are allowed to be there. That they are being received. That their presence has value. That if someone looks at them, it doesn’t automatically mean they did something wrong.

That is not arrogance.

That is self-possession.

And there is a massive difference.

Arrogance says, “I am better than you.”

Confidence says, “I do not need to shrink to make you comfortable.”

And honestly? That feels especially relevant right now.

Because if April reminded us of anything, it’s that the industry is still in a very strange, unstable, “okay but what are we supposed to do with this?” kind of place.

What the f**k is going on?

The Writers Guild ratified a new four-year contract with studios and streamers, with 90% of members voting in favor. That brought one major labor conversation to a smoother close than the 2023 strike cycle, but it also shifted attention back to SAG-AFTRA’s ongoing negotiations with the studios.

At the same time, AI keeps hovering over everything like the weird ghost in the corner of the audition room. AI is already reshaping filmmaking in India by cutting production time, reducing costs, and expanding dubbing capabilities while Hollywood is still figuring out what AI should and should not be used for.

And in Los Angeles, the production slowdown kept showing real-world consequences. Quixote, a major production services vendor, announced it would wind down most of its L.A. soundstage business as the industry continues to deal with reduced film and TV work.

Not to mention the studio merger.

So yes, there are labor talks.

There are AI questions.

There are production slowdowns.

There are actors wondering if the old map still works.

There are writers trying to protect a career that keeps changing shape.

There are filmmakers looking at costs, tools, platforms, festivals, audiences, algorithms, budgets, and thinking, very reasonably:

What the f**k do I do right now?

I don’t think the answer is to pretend everything is fine. It's not.

The answer is also not to sit around waiting for the industry to become stable enough, because that was also never a guarantee for you.

The answer, annoying as it may be, is to start acting like the version of yourself who is not waiting to be rescued by perfect circumstances.

This is where my manager’s advice comes back in.

Pretend like you’re famous.

Not because fame is the goal.

Not because fame makes you worthy.

Not because a blue checkmark is a substitute for a personality.

But because “famous” can become a useful shorthand for something deeper:

Move like someone whose work matters.

Move like someone who expects to be in the room.

Move like someone who is preparing for opportunity, not just complaining that opportunity hasn’t arrived yet.

Move like someone who understands that confidence is not the opposite of humility.

It is the opposite of self-erasure.

That matters because so much of this business quietly trains us to ask for permission:

Permission to be seen.

Permission to submit.

Permission to follow up.

Permission to call ourselves artists.

Permission to be in the room with people who have more credits, more followers, more heat, more money, more whatever.

And after a while, your body starts performing smallness before you even realize it.

You walk into the audition apologizing.

You slate like you’re bothering someone.

You start emails with, “Sorry to bug you.”

You post the thing and then immediately want to delete it.

You don’t follow up because you don’t want to seem annoying.

You don’t pitch yourself because you don’t want to seem delusional.

Meanwhile, the person who believes they belong may not even be more talented than you.

They may just be less busy negotiating against their own existence.

Read that again.

There’s actually research behind this idea: sometimes, we don’t wait to feel confident before we act confident. Sometimes, acting differently helps our brain catch up.

Think of it this way: if you keep watching yourself shrink, apologize, hesitate, or avoid the thing, your brain starts collecting that as proof: “I guess this is who we are.”

But the opposite can also be true.

If you watch yourself walk into the room with a little more ease, send the email, prep the audition, make the bed, go to class, or follow through on the thing you said you were going to do, your brain starts collecting different proof.

“Oh. I guess we’re someone who shows up.”

Your behavior becomes evidence. Not because one action magically changes your life, but because each action gives your brain a new story about who you are.

If I walk into the room like I belong, my brain gets a new piece of information:

“Oh. Apparently we do this now.”

If I make the bed before leaving the house, my brain gets a little receipt:

“Oh. We’re the kind of person who takes care of our space.”

If I go to the gym at 9 p.m. even though I’m tired and dramatic and would rather become one with the couch, my brain gets another receipt:

“Oh. We’re the kind of person who follows through.”

Not always. Not perfectly. Not in a toxic hustle-culture “no excuses, rise and grind, become a protein powder ad” kind of way.

But behavior teaches identity.

And that is where this gets useful.

There’s all this talk about alternate universes, switching timelines, changing your frequency, raising your vibration, quantum leaping into a new reality, becoming your highest self, manifesting your dream life, and honestly, sometimes I hear it and think: uhmmmmm...what?!

A lot of that language can feel impossible. Or sci-fi. Or like it requires crystals, a $777 course, and a ring light.

But if alternate universes did exist (I'd love to have mutant superpowers, please and thanks) I imagine it would be hell of a lot easier to move into a universe that is almost exactly like this one.

Not the universe where you’re suddenly an Oscar winner living in a Malibu compound with abs and passive income.

A much closer one.

A universe where most of your circumstances are the same, but one important thing has shifted:

Your attitude.

Your posture.

Your self-concept.

Your willingness to act like someone who is already in conversation with the life they want.

That’s the part that feels possible to me.

Not:

“I am famous, therefore the universe owes me a Marvel franchise.”

More like:

I am the type of person who sends the email.

I am the type of person who goes to class.

I am the type of person who makes the bed.

I am the type of person who walks into the room like I was invited.

I am the type of person who doesn’t need to apologize for having ambition.

I am the type of person who can be nervous and still show up.

That last one is important.

Because confidence does not always feel like confidence.

Sometimes confidence feels like having a panic attack in slightly better pants.

Sometimes it feels like doing the thing while your brain is still screaming, “Absolutely not.”

Sometimes it feels fake.

But fake is not always bad.

Actors should know this better than anyone.

We literally work in imaginary circumstances for a living. We understand that if you commit to a set of given circumstances, your body and emotions can begin to respond. You don’t need to actually be a prince, murderer, lawyer, grieving father, or woman in a pharmaceutical commercial discovering she can finally enjoy kayaking again. You need to commit truthfully enough that your system starts to organize around the possibility.

That’s not delusion. That’s craft.

So what if we applied that same principle to ourselves?

“I am the type of person who goes to the gym at 9 p.m.” is not really about the gym.

It’s about becoming someone who doesn’t abandon themselves just because the day got inconvenient.

“I am the type of person who cleans the dishes before bed” is not really about dishes.

It’s about becoming someone who closes loops.

“I am the type of person who makes the bed before leaving” is not really about the bed.

It’s about becoming someone who gives future-you one less thing to resent present-you for.

“I am the type of person who prepares before the audition” is not really about booking.

It’s about becoming someone who respects the opportunity before anyone else assigns value to it.

“I am the type of person who follows up” is not really about getting a response.

It’s about becoming someone who advocates for their own career.

“I am the type of person who posts the clip” is not really about likes.

It’s about becoming someone who lets their work be seen.

That is where the ripple starts.

Not in the fantasy version of your life.

Not in the giant reinvention.

Not in the “starting Monday” lie we all love so much.

Here. In the next small identity vote.

You don’t have to wake up fully believing you’re brilliant.

You can start with: “I am the type of person who gives myself a real chance.”

That’s enough.

That’s actually a lot.

Focus of the Month: Pretend

So this month I want you to try the closer alternate universe.

The one where you still have bills, laundry, insecurities, auditions, unanswered emails, weird lighting, industry instability, and a body that sometimes refuses to cooperate.

But in that universe, you carry yourself a little differently.

You walk into the room like you belong.

You send the email like it is normal to advocate for yourself.

You prep the audition like your work matters.

You make the bed like your day deserves a clean beginning.

You clean the dishes like tomorrow-you is someone worth caring for.

You go to the gym at 9 p.m. not because you are suddenly a fitness influencer, but because you are voting for the identity of someone who follows through.

And then you let it ripple.

Because maybe the life you want is not one giant leap away.

Maybe it is one tiny, almost embarrassingly doable universe over.

#stayfocused