Written by Alexandra-Loonin
I wanted to be Britney, Whitney & JLo is a monologue about femininity, fantasies and gender. A young man visits his parents for family dinner but ends up locking himself in the bathroom when the attacks on his life and sexuality become to intensive. In there he looks back on his life and upbringing, turning to pop divas for comfort and understanding. In a sensitive, rhythmic manner the play walks us through a coming of age story with all it’s highs and lows. A celebration and recognition of the female role models so many of us 90s kids share I wanted to be Britney, Whitney & JLo is ultimately a story about survival.
Mom had a compulsion of placing superheroes in my hands. For a long time I just ignored it but
eventually that refusal turned into a surrender. I couldn’t cope with being a constant disappointment.
I wasn’t strong enough to be anything but her child so I gave up and played the role, put on the
mask and costume and there I was: a five year old child actor with Action man in hand. He always
made her happy when I wasn’t enough.
Like that time she wanted a picture of me and Angela and told us to kiss, hug and hold hands. Later,
when I did the same thing with Anton, she removed the camera before turning around and leaving
me all confused and embarrassed. I didn’t understand what happened. I did exactly what she
instructed me to do but with another person. By the look of her back as she walked away there was
something seriously wrong with that and I tried to make up for it by fetching Action man. I thought
the sight of him would make her forgive me but she just smiled at him before turning to the other
parents and saying something I didn’t really understand. That’s my first memory. How mom put the
camera away when I took Anton’s hand. How she smiled at Action man but never at me.
I would have easily preferred staying inside during playtime but unfortunately there was this rule
saying ”you have to go outside!” and out there was dominated by kids reenacting Titanic. As if it
wasn't torture enough to have to engage with the products of emotionally dysfunctional city parents,
guess who never got to play Rose? Who always had to be a musician or captain? Or Jack. I fucking
hate Jack. I’d rather play a boat than him because you’re expected to be so incredibly grateful.
”Omg, really? Thank you guys! I’m super happy about dying and never seeing the love of my life
again.” As if it’s nice to sacrifice yourself for someone else when in reality it’s them sacrificing
themselves for you because everyone knows that Jack wouldn’t have survived Rose. But Rose
learned how to cope with things. Like me. We cope with things, Rose and I. Adaptable chameleons
with a will of steel.
