Help! My sitcom past is ruining my political future

Dear Rémy,

Throughout the 90s and early 2000s, I played a sitcom character whose main personality trait was being a dunce. Handsome, certainly, but he’s a dunce.

Each episode had him engaging in one antics or another: the lower his IQ seemed to go, the higher the ratings. He was the type who believed in Sasquatches but thought Komodo dragons were made up. In a first episode, he spent 24 hours stuck on a sofa. He was mystified by cotton candy. At one point, I even had to have eye surgery because my character spent a lot of time cross-eyed fighting with a kitchen utensil or treadmill.

I wish I had never played it. My real dream is politics. I ran for mayor of my town three times, but no one takes me seriously. The first time around, people thought it was a prank, maybe even marketing for a sitcom reboot. During the election campaign, people joke that they should “protect” their places and ask me deliberately simple questions about population densities.

Remy, I graduated magna cum laude from high school before studying genetics at Duke. I know pi to the 40th decimal place (it’s 1, and no, I didn’t Google that). And yet everyone only sees the guy who once “knocked out his tooth” because he thought macaroni was breakfast cereal.

Is there any way I can get rid of this coat? It’s like being haunted by a very stupid ghost.

Done and dumber

Dear Done and Dumber,

It looks like you’ve worked hard and have the credentials, but that shadow cast by your sitcom character is still stumbling behind you, spewing malapropisms. I wonder though, do you care about this character as closely as the audience does? Could a part of you still count on this safe and familiar role, even if you run for office?

Often, we “throw away” our past because it brings us comfort, like an overused wetsuit. What if, instead of shying away from the “dunce,” you leaned into it with a dose of self-awareness? In politics, as in television, having a unique selling point can be extremely useful. This beloved bozo could be the secret sauce your opponents are missing. A campaign that humorously acknowledges your past could do more than any stump speech to change minds. Maybe you need to join in on the joke: think of a video in which you knowingly reference him, or bring a cotton candy machine to your next gathering.

You can’t shed this persona unless you opt for extensive plastic surgery, which I suppose would delay campaign activities and scare off children who might otherwise be amenable to photo ops. But maybe voters don’t need you to get rid of yourself entirely; they just need to see the intelligence and passion that drives you now. That “very stupid ghost” can finally leave you alone once you invite him out, approach him, and show everyone who you are beyond the punchlines.

Wishing you a campaign journey filled with curiosity and open-mindedness,

Remy

I’m a costume designer facing a serious dilemma

Dear Rémy,

I simply love my role as a costume designer on a Netflix period drama. I spend the whole day buried under peacock feathers and periwinkle petticoats: the dream!

But I am faced with a very tricky conundrum. One of our actors has gained a few pounds over the past year but refuses to admit it. We’ve discussed letting out his regular clothes and adding elastic to his waist, but he insists on using the measurements we have on file from 12 months ago.

This becomes a problem; he looks absurd on screen – more like a trussed ham that a maid might serve in the kitchen than like a lord of a landed estate. We have to repair his belt three times a day. Recently, during a dance scene where he was wearing braces, they blew him up with one shot in the middle of a reel of tape.

Rémy, I would like to have your advice on how to navigate this, ideally without embarrassing him or putting my work in jeopardy.

Hem Lines and Hard Truths

Dear hem lines and hard truths,

Costumeting period dramas sounds like a dream, but even dreams have caveats sewn into their fabric. I’m sure you’re treading carefully, but let me ask you: Is it about the numbers on a measuring tape, or about his comfort and vision of his character?

Could you emphasize the need for an update to your wardrobe that honors the demands of its role? Sometimes presenting these things as being in service of the character rather than the actor opens the door to a gentler, more collaborative conversation.

Here’s a thought: Would he be more open to an adjustment if it symbolized a new depth in his character? After all, maybe his character is evolving, and a few updates to his figure could symbolize that.

Sometimes tackling a sensitive topic becomes more acceptable if you focus on a broader view of history, authenticity, and artistry. Costumes should help actors fully assume their roles, right?

Either way, it seems like you should ditch the cummerbund altogether.

I wish you an endless series of well-tailored suits,

Remy

Consider: Should I campaign for an Oscar?

Dear Rémy,

After 20 years of hard work in this industry – and the last 8 as a director – I am finally within reach of an Oscar. My latest photo should be nominated for the 2025 awards. I can almost feel this little golden man’s contoured glutes in my hand.

So here’s my question: Should I campaign for the nomination I so desperately crave? You know the drill, Remy: monogrammed golf caddies, luxurious bouquets, maybe even antiques selected to match the committee’s personal aesthetic. I “accidentally” bump into them at Soho House so that my name is on their lips, or I speak to acquaintances to put in a good word. Everything to ensure my place on this golden list of nominations.

It makes me nauseous to think about it: I want to be nominated on the merits of my film, not because I bought 10 limited edition Hermès paperweights. And yet, I know that every other director in Tinseltown will have the same ideas. Can I really afford not to compete in this diamond-encrusted arena? If this led to Oscar success, I’d be afraid I’d feel like I bought it.

Which path would you recommend, Rémy?

Oscar victorious?

Dear Oscar Victorious?,

You ask yourself the questions that matter: Is this really a trophy, or what would it mean? It sounds like you’re grappling with more than just a decision; you wonder how you want to get to this moment. The uneasiness you feel could be due to your instinct telling you that winning at all costs could rob the journey of its meaning.

IIs there a middle way, one where you could share your passion for cinema without making it an exchange of corporate gifts? I suspect these decision-makers have closets full of luxury gifts, so perhaps you could focus on creating spaces where the film speaks for itself – a special screening or Q&A where the film shines through your authentic connection to history.

And here’s a thought: If you weren’t campaigning, would you feel like you were letting yourself down or staying true to your principles? Perhaps that’s the true measure: feeling integrity in the path you choose, regardless of the outcome.

Remember, the Oscar is just a milestone. What matters most is crossing the finish line in a way that makes you proud.

Hoping you find your balance on this star-spangled tightrope,

Remy

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Remy Blumenfeld is a veteran television producer and founder of Vitality Guru, which provides business and career coaching to top performers in media. Send your questions to: [email protected].

Questions edited by Sarah Mills.