What Being in A Music Video Taught Me About My Identity

One of the ways I worked my way through grad school was taking small acting jobs here and there. The pay wasn’t always great, but it was a unique experience and I always had fun and learned something.

One of the most profoundly divine encounters in my life happened when I was cast in a rap video.

Photo Credit: MADE ON, Creative Commons

One day I got an audition notice from my agent for the new Missy Elliot music video. The call said “WE ARE LOOKING FOR A HEAVY SET GUY WHO CAN MOVE HIS FEET FAST!!!” If there was a picture of me in the encyclopedia, that would be the description under my head shot.

I responded immediately and booked an audition.

When I arrived at stage 11 of Center Staging Dancing studios I walked into a room filled with “real” dancers. Meanwhile three guys matching the description in the notice went ahead of me into a little room.

When it came my turn, I stepped into a room where I found a casting director, a cameraman, and a Dance Dance Revolution mat hooked up to a Wii and TV. They asked me to take off my shoes and get ready to dance with the game. They hit go and I hit high gear.

I dance dance revolutioned my butt off.

I didn’t try to hit any of the steps. I just tried to keep a focused face and be funny.

The cameraman and casting director cracked up and waved to people through the window to come watch. When I was done, I noticed a small crowd gathered out the window, laughing and applauding.

I stood back for a bit while they talked things through, trying to act like I hadn’t lost my breath in the 45 seconds they had been filming.

They said they would call.

About a week later I got a call. As odd as it sounds, I was going to be in a Missy Elliot music video.

When I walked on set, security pointed me toward the assistant director. I walked toward him to introduce myself and he replied, “Ah, here’s my fat Michael Jackson.”

This caught me off guard a little, “No, I’m here for the Dance Dance Revolution scene.”

“Ya, as fat Michael Jackson” he replied. “Nobody called you to tell you to learn how to do the moonwalk?”

My mouth dropped.

At first, I thought he was joking, but quickly realized he was completely serious. He got on the radio and I heard him say, “Fat Michael Jackson is here, but he doesn’t know he’s fat Michael. That’s still the case, right?”

The response came back affirmative.

Michael Jackson? I’m supposed to be fat Michael Jackson? Evidently, the day before, a “skinny Michael” had filmed a scene and today was my day to shine.

I paced for the next hour, as the crew called things over the radio like, “Did Fat Michael Jackson get his wardrobe yet?”

“When do we need Fat Michael Jackson on set?”

Around 6:00 I heard over the radio, “Please put Fat Michael Jackson in his outfit so Missy can approve.” That was my cue to head to wardrobe. I was placed in some highwater black pants, black shoes, and custom socks made from silver star glitter glued on to knee-high socks wrapped in plastic wrap to keep the glitter from falling while I danced.

The wardrobe guy handed me a white T-shirt that was size medium.

“I’m sorry.” I said. “This isn’t going to fit me.”

“It’s not supposed to,” came his reply. “They want your belly fat hanging out. Go ahead and put it on and pull it up a little higher.”

All pride and excitement I had previously felt instantly went out the window.

I had told all of my friends I was going to be in a rap video. I had such a good time at the audition making everyone laugh. I suddenly realized that I wasn’t in on the joke. I was the joke. I was ashamed. I was angry. I wanted to get out of there.

I was putting the FAT in Fat Michael Jackson.

For the next hour I sat in shame, trying to figure out what to do. Not only were they going to show all my fat, but I was going to be humiliated because I couldn’t even do any moves like Michael Jackson.

After wallowing in self pity for a while, I began to pray.

I asked for wisdom, I asked for strength, and I may have asked for a fire to burn down the set before I had to be humiliated. As I sat in silence, I felt a gentle nudge say, “Your identity is not found in a music video. You are mine and you are loved. You represent me and it is time to go be the best Fat Michael Jackson this world has ever seen.”

In the midst of my shame, in the midst of questioning my worth and identity, in the midst of my fear, I realized I had been listening to the wrong voice. My belly might be hanging out over my highwater pants and my silver socks might be reflecting the florescent lights above, but I had a choice.

I could continue trying to find my validation from Hollywood and these strangers who I just met, or I could step back into my identity as a child of God and celebrate, enjoy and learn from this crazy opportunity I’d been given.

So I looked at that man in the mirror and decided it was time to make a change.

Missy was still shooting another scene when I got to the sound stage so the producer had me sit in the viewing area where I could watch monitors of the different camera angles.

Missy worked the microphone with Don King hair and a big fur coat.

I had already decided I was going to own being Fat Michael Jackson, so by the time I got to Missy I was confident in who I was. I wasn’t Fat Michael Jackson, I was J.J., a fun guy who likes to bring joy to people and loves them in the process.

Missy came over and I started moving around again, dancing, smiling, and shaking everything I had. She was laughing again and loved it. She approved the wardrobe and I began to head back up stairs to wait to shoot my scene. But as I walked away she called me back.

She said, “I think that shirt is too goofy. Pull it down or give him a bigger size. His face is funny. I want to see his face on camera.”

Quite possibly the greatest compliment I’ve ever been given.

After 45 minutes of competing with Missy on DDR, the assistant director announced “That’s a wrap for Mr. Peterson.” Everyone clapped for me and offered kind words as they walked off set towards the burrito bar and grilled vegetables set up for dinner.

I went back up stairs to get out of my Michael Jackson outfit.

I sat for a few minutes reflecting on what had just happened. I came very close to walking out of the shoot or potentially ruining the shoot by questioning everything about me. When I stopped for a moment, I was able to see where my identity came from.

Our identity comes from Christ—and nowhere else.

Being in a rap video gave me more than just a great story to tell at parties. It also gave me instantly credibility and likability with college students when I became a professor, and opened doors to speak to high school students.

All because I chose to listen to the right voice and be the best Fat Michael Jackson this world has ever seen.