In my latest book, The American Dream (non-shameless plug), I infiltrate many different group's perception of the American Dream by walking in their shoes. One of my favorite chapters is when I infiltrated the world of celebrity impersonators  at a convention in Las Vegas by posing as a 4th rate Austin Powers impersonator.

I  end up being out-ed mid-convention as an imposter impersonator

Here's how it bitterly went down in all its glory..................

Loud screaming fills my ears. Not the screams of adoring fans who have sighted a beloved celebrity but screams of pure anger. A Joan Rivers impersonator is pissed off. She’s livid. Fake Joan Rivers is so angry that she screeches at me, completely out of character.

“This is not Halloween, you know!” fake Joan Rivers shrieks, as I clutch my sweaty palms, shifting uncomfortably.

An irate Cher impersonator joins in, as do several other angry women who now encircle me—all dead ringers for very, very famous people, all mad, all ganging up on me as if I’ve committed heinous crimes against humanity. It’s starting to get very, very ugly.

“We take this very seriously and don’t want people to make fun of us!” hollers faux Carmen Miranda, who wears a headdress of fruit, worked up with veins pulsating from her neck. She states the blond wig I’m wearing not only discredits Austin Powers “tribute artists,” but also the entire celebrity-impersonator community at large! Furious, she elaborates: “I don’t think the real Mike Myers would appreciate what you’re doing!” (I think he would!)

“A real Austin Powers impersonator would never wear a wig like that!” imitation Roseanne Barr berates, throwing in her two cents.

Adjusting my thick glasses and dropping my half-Chinese Austin Powers accent, I futilely try to defend myself (noting there’s nothing worse in the world than being screamed at by a bunch of female celebrity impersonators). Where do I begin to explain to this angry celebrity-doppelgänger mob that this was the only wig left at my local costume shop, and was not worn out of tribute-artist disrespect? How did my ploy of beng undercover at the 4th Annual Vegas Celebrity Impersonators Convention and live the American Dream of being a recognizable face the public adores, go wrong, horribly wrong?

The convention’s director (a miniature blond woman with no resemblance to anyone famous) points to faux Joan Rivers and adds through clenched teeth, “She spends a lot of money on her outfit, and you come here and mock it!”  And finally, “As the director of this convention, I’m telling you to take off that wig! I want you to go into the bathroom and take off that wig right now!”

It hurts; it really, really hurts. What choice do I have? The Arnold Schwarzenegger impersonator might squash my head like a grape! The Robert De Niro look-alike could accuse me of wanting to fuck his wife! Imitation Michael Jackson could tell me to “beat it!” Obviously the idiot for making an improper wig choice, and like a kicked, but famous-looking, puppy, I do as I’m told. My pursuit of the American Dream has been rained upon in the land of imposters. These guys are pros and can surely smell a true phony trying to imitate someone famous rather than a professional (trying to imitate someone famous). Lending no credibility, my dreadlocks stuffed beneath my wig make Austin Powers look like he has a medium-size brain tumor.

Yes, I’ve been unmasked midconvention, outed as an imposter impersonator!

If you want to read more be sure to check out my book, The American Dream  (more non-ironic book plugging).