Reaping rewards of mistaken identity
THERE is a restaurant in France where I enjoy passing the time. I watch cars and I watch people. They have always taken excellent care of me.
A few weeks ago a new waitress arrived who continued the tradition of feeding and watering me with a smile that was even better than someone as attractive as me is used to. I was slightly bemused. Always in search of the truth my sister engaged her in conversation. It turned out that there had been a conversation with some of the staff as to whether, or not, I was the very well known French actor/ writer/ musician Christophe Malavoy. We all had a good laugh and the high standards of the establishment continued unabated.
It took us all of 15 seconds to Google Christophe and see how he measured up to me. One friend remarked that he looked more like me than the photo that accompanies this column does! My sister immediately said there was a look of our father in him. I could see nothing, but then we are often not very good at seeing ourselves as others see us. When I saw what Christophe has accomplished I was flattered by the event. I texted a colleague who diplomatically replied that talk of the likeness was “not absurd”. A French friend who has seen every French film ever made was more to the point, replying “and do I look like Madonna?” Always looking to the future I replied that there were indeed similarities.
Two things struck me about the encounter. First, we are very poor at seeing our own likeness in other people, even our immediate family. I can see gestures of my father in my own behaviour. But I do not see any visual similarities when other people tell me they are obvious. Genetics are strong. There is the qualification that a large UK study in 2015 found that 15pc of women are not sure who the father of one of their children is. Eight per cent report that their husband is unaware that one of their children is not his. I only have to fold my arms to get an image of my father so I won’t be needing DNA confirmation.
The other thing that struck me was that people do get treated differently depending on how they are perceived. I know I am treated differently when I am in motorbike gear. For years people told me of a particular person who was very rude. I had never experienced anything other than smiles and pleasantries until the day I went into her building with a helmet on. I did enjoy the change of her face when she recognised my voice!
Lest there be any confusion, the French restaurant in which I was eating is known for its superb hospitality. That said, as Cristophe, I probably did get about five per cent extra.
Then it dawned on me that Christophe is probably plagued with people who think he is me following my appearance on the big screen in Mrs Brown’s Boys D’Movie. Film aficionados will remember my two lines which are among the finest ever to emerge from the pen of Brendan O’Carroll. I took the part when I saw that it led up to a car explosion and that it would probably be too expensive to cut me out. Be very envious Christophe. That was a big movie.