We’re living in the golden age of niche chaos. Somewhere between the internet’s obsession with hyper-specific aesthetics and our collective post-pandemic thirst for connection, a new breed of fan culture has emerged: the impromptu, totally unhinged celebrity lookalike contest. It’s low stakes, high vibes, and exactly the kind of joyful absurdity people are craving right now.

Take, for example, the Timothée Chalamet Lookalike Contest last month in New York City. What started as a flyer stapled to lampposts in the East Village manifested into a full-blown spectacle of Timmy clones, all doing their best brooding, wistful impressions of the internet’s favorite soft boy. And then, as if summoned by the sheer force of his fans, the real Timothée Chalamet showed up. He posed for selfies, looked mildly confused (on brand), and was whisked away by his security just as quickly as he arrived. For one surreal afternoon, Washington Square Park was the epicenter of a gen alpha’s letterbox’d diary come to life. 

Naturally, it went viral. And like all things viral, it inspired imitations. Last weekend, Chicago hosted its very own Jeremy Allen White Lookalike Contest in my neighborhood, Humboldt Park.

But what exactly happens at a Jeremy Allen White lookalike contest? Is it a serious battle for soft-boy supremacy, or just an elaborate excuse for people to gather and swoon over Carmy clones? 

I was across the country at ADCOLOR so I, unfortunately, was not able to experience this first hand but my younger sister’s bestie Lisette was on the scene, and according to her —  it’s a little bit of both.

“A $50 cash prize and a pack of cigarettes really sets the mood,” she told me. “The crowd was making jokes and taking pictures, but when it came time to vote, people really took it seriously—like, who actually looked the most like Jeremy Allen White, not just who was the hottest.”

Here’s what Lisette had to say about the chaos, creativity, and community vibes of Chicago’s answer to New York’s Timothée spectacle:

zz: What was the crowd energy like?

Lisette: It was wild. The crowd was so thick you could barely see what was happening unless you were right up front. Nobody was moving—they were locked in on the Jeremys. People brought signs, like “winner comes home with me,” which I think speaks to the overall vibe: chaotic, funny, and just really fun. And even after the competition was over, people were still showing up to see what was going on or grab a picture for Instagram.

zz: How creative did people get with their looks?

Lisette: Most people stuck with the classic The Bear uniform: white tee and blue apron. But there was this one late contender who really stood out. He showed up in Jeremy’s off-duty style—a baseball cap, white tank, cargo pants, flowers in one hand, and a cigarette in the other. Lisette

Lisette’s on-the-ground intel paints a picture of pure, unfiltered chaotic joy—a gathering of people who just wanted to laugh, cheer, and take a break from reality. And as she put it, “In today’s climate, people just want to have fun and forget about the now. Bringing back things that are considered nostalgic, or coming together as a community for a good time, is important to this generation.”

The Rise of the Lookalike Contest

These impromptu celebrity lookalike contests have been popping up worldwide, transforming fandom into a form of chaotic performance art —and they’re spreading fast.  In London, a Harry Styles lookalike contest drew hundreds of participants to Soho Square.  In Austin, Texas, Glen Powell enthusiasts gathered at Auditorium Shores for a lookalike competition judged by Powell's mother and aunt, where the winner received a cowboy hat, free queso for a year, and the opportunity to appear in Powell's next movie.

What’s interesting about these events isn’t just their absurdity—it’s how they bring people together. They’re playful, community-driven celebrations that tap into our collective craving for connection, creativity, and a little bit of chaos.

Why Now? The Search for Connection

Lookalike contests might seem like a quirky blip on the radar of fandom culture, but they speak to something much deeper. In a world dominated by perfectly curated Instagram feeds, algorithm-driven TikTok trends, and relentless marketing campaigns, people are craving something different—something real. These events feel refreshingly spontaneous, unscripted, and silly in the best way.

They also reflect a broader cultural shift in fandom. Gone are the days when fan culture was driven by large, corporate-sponsored gatherings like Comic-Cons or official meet-and-greets. Today’s fans are creating their own moments, fueled by a collective desire to do something fun together. This isn’t about idol worship in the traditional sense—it’s about the joy of showing up, buying into a shared joke, and vibing out for an afternoon.

In the words of Lina (@evermoresivy), whose viral post about the Chalamet contest perfectly captured the sentiment: “The people yearn for fun and whimsy.” 

And these events? They’re delivering exactly that. Whether you’re cheering on Carmy lookalikes in Chicago or cosplaying your favorite Timmy Chalamet role, these moments remind us of the pure, unadulterated joy of showing up and just being there. 

If anyone reading is interested in cohosting a second Dev Patel lookalike contest (👀), absolutely hit me up!!