The $3,500 photo. Totally worth it.
In March, Michael Jackson held an exclusive “fan appreciation day” in Tokyo where 300 lucky people got to line up and be led one by one into a teeny room where they would have the chance to spend 30 seconds of face time with “The Gloved One”—all for the low, low price of $3,500. Hi, that’s $117 per second.
Artist Meredith Danluck was one of these fortunate few. She made an art video about her experience and will be exhibiting it at Renwick Gallery in New York through the end of June. She’s still slightly traumatized.
As soon as I heard about it, I knew I had to go. I reserved a ticket right away—I think mine was number 296 out of 300 so I just made it.
I got to Japan and I was totally jetlagged, so everything already had this surreal feeling to it. I headed over to Studio Coast, the venue where the event was happening. There were all these paparazzi outside and everyone was gathered around a Michael Jackson impersonator, watching him do the Moonwalk. Everyone was holding gifts and flowers and things for him to sign. I was empty-handed.
Most of the people there were Japanese, but somehow I ended up in line with a bunch of English-speaking folks. I met a really cool girl who worked for the Moroccan embassy who ended up becoming my line-buddy. Standing in front of us was a normal-seeming Scottish couple who told me, “Some people spend $10,000 for a safari—this is our safari.” I also met Carlo, a computer technician/Michael Jackson impersonator from Colorado who hit on me. He was like, “What are you doing later? Wanna go by Michael’s hotel and hang around outside?” And I met the head of the Australian Michael Jackson fan club, who brought a massive, four-inch-thick binder of fan letters she had collected from fans in Australia to give to Michael Jackson. I wonder if he’ll read any of them. I feel like he might. I mean, what else does he have to do?
Before we were let in, a parade of about 50 children in wheelchairs were hoisted up the stairs into the venue. People around me were actually getting pissed off, like, “Why do they get to go in first? They probably didn’t even have to pay!”
So finally we get let inside, and it’s really lame! There is a buffet of crap food, like deli sandwiches and shit. I mean, for three grand you’d think there’d be some decent food. I ate, like, a cracker. I was starving and I think that contributed to my mental breakdown later.
There was nothing to do for two hours. Everyone was just milling around, waiting for something to happen. Finally Michael showed up and made his way through the crowd with about five bodyguards forming a shield around him. People FLIPPED out: crying, screaming, taking pictures like crazy. Suddenly Michael stopped walking and crouched down into, like, a crash position and covered his head because I guess the camera flashes were too much for him. The bodyguards started yelling, “No flashes! No flashes!”
He went upstairs into this VIP box and everyone just stood there staring up. Once in a while he would come to the window and wave and people would freak out. Then I got hit on by another Michael Jackson impersonator! He was like a hip-hop dude whose name was “E. Casanova.” I kept wondering
what it was about me that was so attractive to Michael Jackson impersonators!
The crowd stared up at the booth for hours hoping to catch a glimpse of MJ. When he came to the window to wave for a nanosecond, the screams were deafening.
I got about two seconds of video footage of me and him before they turned my camera off.
This is from when he walked through the crowd. I like his little tongue sticking out here.
Finally they started calling numbers to meet the man. You weren’t allowed to bring a video camera, but I had a digital camera that actually shoots pretty high-quality video. I thought, “Well, I have no idea what’s going to happen when I walk through that door, so I’m just gonna start filming now and go for as long as I can.” I held my camera to my chest in a vise grip. The door opened. It was so intimidating. There were like 15 bodyguards and handlers inside. A woman shuffled me into the tiny, brightly lit room and immediately stripped me of my coat, my purse and my camera—like, she really wrestled the camera away from me. I tried to explain that I just wanted to take pictures of him myself (but secretly film him), but they didn’t understand. They were like, “Oh no, together, together!” and literally shoved me over to where he was waiting. He was just standing in the corner like a little lost dog confined in a cage at the pound. When they pushed me I tripped over the white tarp paper and tore it a little. You can see it in the picture.
I stumbled and kind of fell into Michael Jackson. The bodyguards gasped but Michael just caught me and was like, “Oh hi, are you OK?” We shook hands and hugged and he felt very frail and skeletal. I’m a size zero and I felt fat next to him. And I’ll tell you, being so close to that face, that nose, that skin… I was mesmerized. He said, “I really like your shirt,” and he touched my t-shirt. That felt strange. Then he said that he liked my vampire teeth necklace and asked me if he could have it! I thought I had misheard him, so I just mumbled something like, “Oh! You know, actually, it’s really sentimental. Sorry!” Right then the guy holding my camera said “OK, 1, 2, 3,” and took a picture of us—just one picture—and then they shuffled me out and that was it.
It was the fastest 30 seconds of my life. I felt like a piece of trash being blown in the wind. One of the rules was that we were allowed to ask Michael one question—like he was some kind of oracle. “Michael Jackson, who will I marry?” In all the chaos of it though, I didn’t even think to ask him anything. I barely even spoke to him. I barely even treated him like a human being, because everyone else in the room made him seem like such an object.
I left immediately afterward. There were going to be performances of dancers doing “Thriller” following the meetings, but I had to get out of there. I felt crazy. Since I was the first person to leave, when I got outside the paparazzi swarmed me, shouting, “Did you meet Michael Jackson? Did you shake his hand?” They trailed me for an entire block and I got so freaked out, I jumped in a cab and spent $70 getting back to the hotel. We had gotten gift bags containing a bottle of champagne and an autographed photo of Michael, and the next day the cleaning lady in my hotel either threw mine away or stole it.
Still, I definitely feel like I got my money’s worth. He was actually really nice. I feel bad for him. I feel bad that there’s this human life who has such a foreign, caged experience of the world.
