Sup, fellow universe dweller. It’s me. The fictional character on this poorly written TV show you’re watching. You’ve probably noticed that I’m wearing a Baja jacket – aka the jacket that white dude stoners wear. I’d elaborate on my character more, but really, there’s nothing else you need to know. This jacket tells you everything you need to know about me, my character development, and any plot I’m involved in.
Essentially, what you see is what you get. Peace, brother. Anyone got some Mary Jane?
If you’re wondering, the character I’m playing used to be a goody two-shoes. Straight As, played sports, had a collar on his shirt. The nice guy around school. And then, he was done being Mr. Nice Guy (I didn’t get that part when I auditioned). Started smoking weed under the bleachers at school next to the extras told to make out. Skipping class to peruse Bob Marley records at the record shop that the only remaining hippie in town in this small town with no lines manages. Dating girls who wear cornrows (white, of course). Going to a lot of royalty-free music festivals. You know, just going on a journey to find themselves, and live their life over five or so episodes as a global human in this world.
But anyway, all of that doesn’t need to be said. The jacket I’m wearing says all of that. It’s communicated loud and clear through the magic of the jacket. That’s why my only lines on the show are, “Anyone have a lighter?” and “Bro, there’s so much more out there, man.”
When I come into a role, I always need to know: What’s their backstory? Who is he? Of course, my ideology as the character wearing this jacket is to never assume or make judgements based on stereotypes. Everyone is going through their own life’s journey, and you never really know who the person is under the mask they show to the world. The character I’m playing doesn’t want to be misunderstood, and doesn’t want to misunderstand.
But, as the actor playing the character, I want to say that in this specific situation, you should stereotype. Go ahead, it’s okay. Take everything you know about white people who wear Baja jackets or drug rugs like the one I’m costumed in and run with it. Because this show is only 44 minutes, 37 with commercials, and I get, like, three minutes of actual screen time. And the majority of the time, you guessed it, I’m just enjoying my kush (a Ziploc bag of oregano). Because that is who my character is, and you need to understand that so they can bring my character back next season so I get paid more.
Life in showbiz playing this stereotype is easy for me, but the people who have it easier are the costuming department. Just one look at me and the poorly written character treatment, they know to throw a Baja jacket on this bad boy and call it a day. You don’t have to go to some fancy fashion school or blow a Hollywood executive to know how to dress me. A character with no motivation? Check. Divorced parents? Yep. Overachieving sibling? Bingo. I’m a walking Baja hoodie baby, and you can smell me from a mile away.
Then again, there are some huge cons to wearing this holy smock. It’s itchy beyond belief. In fact, you’ll never see me in a scene without it because I’m just covered in hives. I haven’t taken this off in several months, but the director promised me in-between his bouts of vomit that it added some real authenticity to my role. The jacket and hives are preventing me from landing any other roles I’m auditioning for, but if that’s what it takes to sell it as the teen stoner who’s walking off the beaten path, then I’m okay with that. Also, I’m a white dude wearing this stereotypically Mexican outfit. This is racist and bad, yeah? Well, I’ll only be canceled for a few weeks; then I’ll be right back in the same role later this year.
But remember this: When you see me no longer wearing this jacket, just know my character was able to turn their whole life around. My wig got a haircut and now you can see a little sparkle in my eyes that I struggled to make go away because I am so handsome in real life. I’m now off to college at a made-up university and have real fake dreams now. And finally, one day, I’ll pass a teenager who is wearing the same Baja poncho hoodie. I’ll ignore him and smile at the camera because viewer, that was once me and I had to let you know that one more time to make things absolutely clear.