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My experience at my first Hollywood premiere that I didn't want to go to.

True to Los Angeles fashion, I recently went to my first movie premiere.

It was at the TCL Chinese Theatre on Hollywood Boulevard. The Chinese Theatre! It wasn’t very large. A soft premiere. Something I still don’t quite understand. I had asked multiple people. They explained it to me a couple of times and I’m a little ashamed to say that none of it stuck. Like words were spoken towards me and it somehow missed my brain. Perhaps, I wasn’t listening. Regardless, I couldn’t feel like I could ask again. The showing was not in the main theater and was actually tucked in the back where – shockingly – it was just a normal movie theater with a normal-sized screen and minimal “Chinese” decor. Complete with red seats that didn’t even recline. 

I got a message the day before from a family friend. “Would you like to go to a movie premiere at the Chinese Theatre?” It was straight and to the point. Anybody would jump to the opportunity. But I did not want to go. I never want to go. 

I felt so stupid. So dumb. Why wouldn’t I go to this? This would be a different experience – wearing black tie, next to a red carpet. I knew I would have to go. I should go. Even if it didn’t have anything to do with my career. I should go simply just because. When are opportunities presented like this? But something about staying at home was more appealing.

Throughout my time living in Chicago, I became a homebody. I’ve always been one to some extent. I don’t believe I am alone in my unrelenting appreciation for a soft and warm bed. But in Chicago, I couldn’t bear leaving my bedroom, let alone my apartment. People joke about the Chicago winters. As if it was a simple inconvenience – to be constantly shivering to the point your neck would cramp. But in truth, I didn’t respond to the Chicago winters in such a nonchalant manner. They were absolutely debilitating. Just going out to meet friends, buying groceries felt like an achievement. The sun would be hidden for days. The wind would hit like slashes across whatever bare skin you didn’t cover-up. Simply achieving the bare minimum felt like the most arduous task. I would reward myself for just leaving my apartment. Because if it were up to me if I had the chance…I sincerely believe I wouldn’t have left my apartment once during those long Chicago winters. 

I found comfort in my bedroom. I didn’t have much. I wasn’t much of a decorator – especially if in the case I knew I was not going to be there for very long. But I had my bed. My thick comforter. A ceramic heater. And my laptop. My room became my sanctuary. The excitement of leaving the apartment to go meet with friends, make memories, have new experiences didn’t hold a candle to the peace I felt in my own bed. 

Then after Chicago, we went into lockdown. Further pushing and keeping my being in the comfort of my home. And when I moved to Los Angeles, the pattern continued. It didn’t matter if I didn’t have many friends. That I get that pang of jealousy when I hear the distant thumping of speakers from my neighbors on Saturday night. That every time I do, I wonder I should just get ready. Put on some cute outfit. A full face of makeup. A bottle of whatever I have on hand. And just walk up to their apartment and say hello. I don’t though. I think about it all the time, but I don’t. Having been in Los Angeles for over 8 months now, I spend a good deal of my free time in the comfort of my own home. I would zoom through books, watch whatever nonsense on tv. Even drinking alone became fun for me. 

I became my own most pleasant company.

So, when I got invited to a movie premiere at one of the world’s most renowned theaters, I didn’t want to go. 

You’re probably wondering how I got invited to one. The Los Angeles Marathi community is incredibly connected and interwoven. I don’t know how. But most of my film connections I have made have been through Marathi people. Make of that of what you will. 

It wasn’t until I mentioned the event to my friend – perhaps, one of the very few I have out here on the west coast – and witnessed her excitement for the event and her desire to come. Only then, I had the inclination to go. 

I wanted to be home. Not out with strangers. Not in any unknown, presumably crowded environment. It wasn’t until my friend – a source of comfort – agreed to go with me that I felt inclined to go. And even then, I still didn’t want to. Only the thought of experiencing something new with a friend at a world-famous attraction. 

My friend and I ended up having a good time. A couple of drinks in us and we were giggling the entire way through. We were on our own for most of it. Always lurking in the corner. Whispering stupid nonsense in each other’s ears. We felt pretty being dressed in our “silk” dresses. We looked expensive even though my dress was from Amazon and hers was from Shein. No one was the wiser.

Sad, isn’t it? As someone who wants to be in this industry, for someone who dreamed about having a night like that? To simply not want to go? Granted, this wasn’t a very A-List type premiere. It was for a low-budget short film. But I moved to sunny Los Angeles for a career in this industry. This is where I could meet filmmakers, producers, etc. Where, not only can I have a rare experience with a friend, but I can also push for the career and lifestyle I so desperately crave.

Perhaps, that’s why I didn’t want to go. Because I knew that either I would get nothing from this or everything from this. And I didn’t know if I could handle the former. 

And just how I feared, nothing happened. Nothing happened. I went, got a drink, some popcorn (we were the only ones with popcorn; apparently people at movie premieres don’t eat popcorn). We played around. I got to talk to some people. Just chatted. I wasn’t as bold to be marketing myself towards them. But just made casual conversation. “How are you?”; “It’s nice to meet you”; “What do you do?” My friend didn’t fully understand what I do for work or what I would want to do eventually. We took pictures along the red carpet (guess they’ll just let anyone on there). We chilled for the time being waiting for the film to start. I accidentally went into the wrong theatre and started watching a horribly acted film about how Covid is the new apocalypse or whatever. When the actual film, that we were invited to, started, we sat in the very back with a large popcorn and watched. And still chatted throughout the film. We were buzzed. Sue us.

But nothing extraordinary happened. I didn’t meet anyone who was like “I’m about to change your life.” I didn’t get any opportunities. Hell, these people didn’t even know who I was and what I do. I didn’t sell myself. I was just there. I had no purpose in being there. I was of no importance. I thought I could network but even most of those who worked on the film didn’t seem to be there. And if they were, they were lurking in the shadows. Don’t ask me why?

So, while it was an event…it wasn’t necessarily eventful. I went and received nothing in return. Left the comfort of my apartment and my own company and went. Not having any of my dreams and desires be granted from this one event.

Here’s what I imagined happening. You know, maladaptive daydreaming type. I get ready to go to the theater. I look fantastic. Like truly fantastic. Practically glowing. Some random person – unassuming but important – approaches. We stir up a conversation. I make them laugh. I laugh at their jokes. Then I go into why I moved to Los Angeles. The desire to create. And have them so engrossed in who I was as a person that they would open their door (even if it was just a little baby crack). They would offer to read my work. Or reach out a hand. Something. Just something to give me some way of showcasing who I am and what I can do. 

My dad always told me that “no one is going to knock on your door.” And no one did. While I maintained some conversations with others. Nobody reached out. Nor did I extend my hand either. But me simply leaving the comfort of my home and engaging in an unknown environment - well…that was a feat within its own.

I left my house for seemingly nothing. My source of comfort. My home. Even if it was just for a couple of hours. It was hours lost when I could’ve been sitting peacefully in my bed, reading a book. I put on a nice dress, an excessive amount of makeup, heels that had my flat feet scream in pain, I left my apartment, went to an unknown environment with unknown people, and sacrificed my comfort, my ease, for nothing.

And then I came home, showered, and slept through the night. 

Nothing happened. And it was okay. 

But I still went. I still had the experience. Perhaps, I gained nothing in terms of what I would’ve wanted. Something to make my life easier, this career more attainable. Something that allowed my lazy ass the push that it needs to make something of my name. But I still went. I made some memories, had an experience, learned some things along the way – but not what a soft premiere is…still figuring that out.