I feel like a lot of the time, celebrities tend to exaggerate their quaint little stories about where they come from. Like they say they were living on the streets, but what they really mean is that they moved home to live with their parents or were couch-hopping with friends. Or they say they were out-of-work, but what they really mean is they couldn’t get a job in the field that they wanted.
Basically there’s quite the tendency toward exaggeration, especially when it comes to talking about your roots — so when I saw that beautiful human being and so-so actor Taylor Kitsch said he used to be homeless, I was a little skeptical. “Yeah okay,” I thought to myself, “I wonder what he really means by that.” Because what a great story, right? From homeless to Hollywood. It writes itself. But I decided to give Taylor the benefit of the doubt and let him explain himself:
“I was fucking homeless—literally.”
LITERALLY? Okay, let’s talk this out — Taylor is Canadian and didn’t have a working visa, so it was near impossible for him to find work. He says he catered for two weeks in an under-the-table situation, but had to quit when they refused to pay him. He had no money and no apartment, so he slept on the floor of a friend’s apartment…
Aha! Just as I suspected! Not homeless after all! Sleeping in a home that is not yours! Nice try, Taylor.
“After that, I got an apartment at 181st St., but I had no green card or visa, so I couldn’t get electricity. I’d take candles from my friend’s girlfriend and light the apartment with them. Not smart. There was no furniture—just a blow-up mattress I borrowed from the same friend’s girlfriend, and I stole a cooking pot from a garage sale to boil chicken.”
And now you even have an apartment of your own! And chicken! You are confused, my friend. But then he says he was evicted for not paying rent, at which point:
“I’d go to my buddy’s place, stay there ‘til 11 or 12 at night, and then say, ‘Well, I’ll see you in a bit!” Then I’d go to the subway and pass out there in one of the subway cars until five or six in the morning—however long I could—and after that, go to the gym and shower.”
Oh. Shit. Yeah, sleeping on a train? That’s pretty homeless. I’m sorry, Taylor. It got so bad that he left New York entirely and moved back to LA:
“I was living in my car in L.A. for, like, four months. It was a Firefly—a tiny hatchback with 12-inch wheels. Not great to sleep in. And the fuckin’ thing—the window would jam on the side door, and I was so mad at it that I was pulling it one day and it just shattered. Cut to me with clear plastic over the window held down with duct tape.”
Okay yeah, I take it all back, I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve been burned before! I’m sorry I judged! That is seriously legit and sad and I’m glad you came through it! Very inspiring, and I am a huge dick for ever doubting you.
(Photo: PNP / WENN.com)