I'm Shopping for My Fame Debut and My Future Lover Has to Deal with This Shit
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📁 Filed under: Retail Therapy for Pre-Fame Anxiety, Love Letters to Versions of Myself That Don't Exist Yet, Conversations with People Who Love Me Before I'm Loveable
📍 Location: Taipei 101 Department Store, 4th Floor 🛍️
🎯 Mission: Find the perfect outfit for when my life changes forever ✨
⏰ Time: 5 weeks before the show airs
💸 Budget: Whatever validation costs these days
I'm holding up a black shirt in the changing room mirror when I see him.
Not in the reflection. Standing right behind me.
I spin around, nearly dropping the shirt.
ME (screaming in Mandarin 🍊):
Sir! What the FU—
FUTURE LOVER:
Hey babe.
ME:
Is it a fetish you guys have, scaring the shit out of me all the time?
He laughs, standing there like he owns the place. Soft eyes. Worn jeans. Arms that definitely know their way around a gym. The kind of calm that comes from never having to perform for love.
We both pause.
There's a beat where we're just... looking at each other.
ME:
Okay first of all, you can't just materialize in changing rooms. That's illegal. Second of all—
I gesture vaguely at his entire existence.
ME:
—are you seeing this? Are we both just... objectively beautiful right now? Like, independently verified beautiful?
FUTURE LOVER:
I mean, yeah. Obviously.
ME:
Thank god, I thought I was being delusional. You're very—
FUTURE LOVER:
Hot?
ME:
I was going to say "structurally sound" but hot works.
He grins. I'm still half-naked (but he's seen less).
ME:
So... how did you even get in here? Do future lovers have changing room privileges I don't know about?
FUTURE LOVER:
I've been watching you shop for the last hour.
ME:
That's called harassment, but because you're hot and my future husband, I'm not calling security.
He gestures at the pile of clothes I've been collecting.
FUTURE LOVER:
What's all this?
ME:
My premiere wardrobe! Look—
I hold up the black henley, then a sleek bomber jacket, then perfectly fitted black jeans. I'm doing a full fashion show in my underwear, which honestly? Still looks good.
ME:
This is for when the reality show airs. This is for my first interview. These are for when I'm casually famous but still approachable.
FUTURE LOVER:
Casually famous.
ME:
Yeah, like, grocery shopping but make it iconic. Starbucks on a Tuesday but with paparazzi potential.
He's looking at me like he's dissociating. (It's probably me though.)
ME:
OMG! You don't know about the reality show?! Taiwan's massive Chinese competition series premieres September 6th, first episode airs September 20th! Four episodes, 100 foreigners, and babe—I slayed the show. 💅 I've run over 200 AI simulations. I've pre-regulated my nervous system for fame. 🧠✨
He picks up one of the price tags. His eyebrows shoot up like they're trying to escape his forehead.
FUTURE LOVER:
God, Pierre. This black shirt costs more than some people's rent. 💰
ME:
It's free, we're in Peace™. Different currency system.
FUTURE LOVER:
Right. I love a boutique economy.
ME:
Hey! Fame is an investment! You can't show up to your debut looking like you shop at Uniqlo.
FUTURE LOVER:
Bitch, you've always loved Uniqlo!
I laugh. He makes a point.
FUTURE LOVER:
But seriously, what's all this really about?
ME:
I mean... just backup options, you know? In case things go well with the show. But like, if I get cut, I can still wear them while building my brand. No big deal either way.
He's watching me, saying nothing, but there's something in his expression.
ME:
I mean... look, I've been working on some stuff. Books, AI systems, neuroscience consulting—but make it iconic, you know? It's been going... let's say there's no return on investment yet. And this show could be... good timing? Like, if it works out, great. If not, whatever, I'll figure it out.
I'm still trying to sound casual, but something in my voice cracks just a little.
ME:
It's just... I don't know. Sometimes I feel like people only see the surface, you know? Like I'm just the gym gay who parties a lot. But I've actually built some pretty solid shit. Not that it matters if no one sees it.
I pause, looking down at the price tag in my hands.
ME:
And honestly? Maybe this show changes things, maybe it doesn't. I'm fine either way. I've survived worse than not being famous.
He tilts his head, studying me like he can see right through the performance.
FUTURE LOVER:
You're talking like a version of yourself I'm never going to meet.
ME:
Why? What do you mean?
FUTURE LOVER:
The you that pretends this doesn't matter? The one who's trying to sound casual about something you want more than you've ever wanted anything?
Stop playing small when you're about to explode.
That's not who you actually are.
You just said "some stuff" and "no return on investment" about work that's literally revolutionary. You're standing here buying clothes for your fame debut while pretending you don't care if it doesn't happen.
Shit, he just hits a nerve.
ME:
Okay FINE! I want it to change everything! I've been building my brand for eight months! I've written two books, currently writing the third one, built AI systems, launched neuroscience consulting! The narrative alignment is perfect!
I made my trauma into art, and it didn't solve anything because no one is seeing it. I'm tired of being reduced to the funny muscled gay French guy in Taipei who does ecstasy on weekends because I am SO MUCH MORE than that.
This show HAS to work because I need to know that everything I've built actually matters!
He lights up like he's been waiting for this moment.
FUTURE LOVER:
Bitch! There he is. I love you! Now let me tell you something, babe.
ME:
Okay, love you too, but what?
FUTURE LOVER:
Stop apologizing for wanting this like you're committing a fucking crime.
You just listed everything you've accomplished - two books, AI systems, neuroscience consulting that literally saves lives - and you're acting like wanting fame for that work is shallow?
Babe, you're a hot neuroscientist with AI kinks who's about to help people survive their own minds. And you're ashamed of wanting recognition?
That's not humility. That's internalized capitalism making you feel guilty for wanting credit for your genius.
ME:
I just... I don't want to be superficial.
FUTURE LOVER:
Superficial? You built life-saving work from the wreckage of your own near-death experiences. You want it to reach people who need it. Using a reality show as your platform? That's not superficial. That's strategic brilliance.
While other people are selling $2000 courses on "manifesting abundance," you're literally giving people the neurological blueprints to survive their own minds. For free. In blog posts.
That's not seeking attention - that's a public fucking service.
ME:
But what if people think I'm just another influencer in Taiwan speaking Chinese and eating stinky tofu?
FUTURE LOVER:
First of all, you hate stinky tofu. Second, let them think that until they read your work and realize you're dismantling the entire self-help industry with actual neuroscience and gay sass.
You're not just seeking fame. You're seeking a platform to call bullshit on wellness culture while offering something that actually works.
And baby? The fact that you're literally shopping for fame while having an imaginary conversation about whether you deserve it? Even your self-doubt is performance art at this point.
I sit down on the little bench, still holding the shirt.
ME:
But I'm terrified it won't work. What if I get cut? What if people watch and still only see the surface?
FUTURE LOVER:
Then you'll find another platform. But stop pretending you don't deserve this one.
You know why you're really scared?
ME:
Why?
FUTURE LOVER:
Because you've been told that wanting recognition for your work makes you shallow. But there's nothing shallow about wanting your systematic approach to not dying to save other people.
You're not chasing fame for ego. You're chasing it for impact.
And honestly? Fuck everyone who made you think those two things are mutually exclusive.
ME:
And that's... okay?
FUTURE LOVER:
That's revolutionary.
He sits down next to me.
FUTURE LOVER:
You're allowed to want to be famous for your brilliance. You're allowed to want your revenge arc. You're allowed to want strangers to stop, mid-scroll, and think: "Holy shit, this person just changed my life."
Because that's what happens when trauma-informed neuroscience meets someone who knows how to write.
ME:
But what if it doesn't work?
FUTURE LOVER:
Then you'll have learned that your worth isn't determined by how quickly strangers recognize your genius.
But the fact that you're scared? That just proves how much this matters. And it should matter. What you've built is important.
Stop acting like wanting credit for saving lives makes you gross.
ME:
You're right. I know you're right.
But to be completely honest... sometimes, deep down, I wish I'd stayed delusional.
Like maybe if I never built all this, I wouldn't be sitting here terrified it won’t matter.
He grabs my face gently but firmly.
FUTURE LOVER:
Look me dead in the eyes and tell me you regret what you built, even if it's fucking lonely.
Silence.
Because I can't.
He starts to fade. Like morning mist. Like a dream you try to hold onto.
FUTURE LOVER:
Buy the clothes, babe. Not as backup options.
Buy them because you're about to show the world what a hot neuroscientist with revolutionary ideas looks like.
Buy them because if people think wanting recognition for saving lives makes you shallow? That says more about them than you.
And that's worth celebrating.
And then he's gone. ✨
Just me. The mirror. The clothes. 🪞👕
I look at my reflection.
Still in my underwear. Still holding dreams attached to fabric. 🩲✨
But something's different.
I'm not seeing someone who needs to apologize for their ambition.
I'm seeing someone who built something revolutionary and deserves to be seen for it.
I'm seeing someone who's not shallow for wanting recognition - but strategic.
Someone who turned survival into science and refuses to be humble about it.
And that's not something to hide from.
That's something to own.
I buy all the clothes.
Not as backup options.
But as the wardrobe of someone who's about to change everything.
And if that makes me superficial?
Good.
I'd rather be superficial and revolutionary than humble and invisible.
🌟 END OF SCENE
📍 Location: Changing room mirror
🪞 Reflection: Present, ambitious, unapologetic
💫 Status: Ready to own my genius
🏠 Next stop: Home (with clothes that fit someone who's about to revolutionize everything)