Living In the 
Shadow of Amélie
by Alice Teeple
 

Last winter, Erin and I went to see Amélie at the historic Garman Theatre in Bellefonte.  My friend Meg had seen it in Ithaca some time before, and said I should really go to see it, as the character reminded her vaguely of me.  Usually suggestions like that cause me to avoid such movies, but happily, I thought Amélie was adorable without being saccharine; and the characters were definitely v. endearing.  As was Amélie's hair.
 

I was getting vaguely shaggy, and hair like mine is very unforgiving.  Haircut Time loomed near.  I thought, as I watched the movie, "Hmm, her hair and complexion is similar to mine, plus we have similar fashion sense.  I think I'll go for that look."
 

I've nearly always sported a bobbed haircut, because with a face shape like mine, too much hair makes me feel like Cousin Itt...and the Annie Lennox look was a disaster.  But there is an art to the bobbed haircut, and I knew as soon as I saw Audrey Tautou, she had the haircut of my dreams.  So I sauntered into Supercuts and had it chopped. Glorious!
 

Then...it started.

Being a fan and occasional player of the mighty accordion (much to the chagrin of at least one friend of mine), I purchased the soundtrack to Amélie.  It's pleasant musical fare, so I brought it into the stationery store where I work.  People usually ask me what is playing on the stereo, so I just show them the case.  (Usually it's Gilbert and Sullivan, or Bach's Greatest Hits.)

"Oh my god!  That girl looks exactly like you," said one woman.
"It's uncanny.  You're even wearing red!" said another, doing a quadruple take.
"Mark, doesn't she look like that Amélie girl?"
"Holy shit!  It's Amélie!"
"I just saw this movie and you're a dead ringer for the girl in it; have you seen Amil or whatever it's called?"
"Are you French?"
"You're a fantastic musician.  How long have you played accordion professionally?"
 
 
 
 

That last one was from some Romanian guy who was genuinely shocked when I insisted it wasn't me - either on the CD cover OR playing the concertina wafting from the sound system.
("You so modest.  I buy album next time in music store," he said, winking - still not convinced.)
 
 

And so on.  I estimate that approximately twenty to thirty people have come into the store, only to tell me how much I look like Amélie.  But aside from having similar complexions, identical haircuts, and a penchant for vintage clothing - I just don't see it.  And the people don't just declare this observation in the Nittany Quill, either.  They get me EVERYWHERE.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

I participated in a digital media exhibit in March.  During the evening this guy from Venezuela, I think his name was Miguel, came up to me, STARED, and said in broken English that I looked exactly like Amélie.  Then he ushered over his friend and whispered something, and the friend said "¡Díos mio!  ¡Sí, sí!  Esa es Amélie!"  I was laughing so hard I almost choked on a Triscuit.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Another day I was walking down the street wearing a purple crocheted cardi, black t-shirt and grey skirt when this yuppie couple literally stopped in their tracks and the man said "Look Heather!  It's Amélie!"  I wanted to duck into the nearest building to hide.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

I mean, I don't wish to be ungrateful.  I think Amélie is really pretty and the movie was SO sweet.  It's nice to be identified with Amélie than say, that evil lady in The Goonies or the dude in Priscilla Queen of the Desert with the unique forehead. 
 
 

I think what scares me is potentially disappointing people who expect me to speak French, too.
 

Well, I suppose all I have to do now to keep up this crazy charade is to find a boyfriend who looks vaguely like Nino.
 

Who doesn't work in a porn shop.