I Finally Meet My Twin In Berlin. Well, Almost.

In the world of the X-Men films, ordinary people develop fantastical powers via a small genetic mutation. Hugh Jackman as the Wolverine had the ability to automatically regenerate his body. Through a small genetic mutation, I also have an X-Men superpower. Which is to look like him. Hugh, that is. Not Wolverine.

If you’ve known me at all during my American life, you might be familiar with the phenomena of me getting mistaken for Hugh Jackman. Not once. Not twice. When I lived in LA it happened several times a week for nearly a decade.

I’ve never actually met Hugh Jackman. But again having lived in LA, I’ve met a lot of people who have. A screenwriter friend of mine was in the same room as Mr Jackman for weeks. So I posed the question to him one day over coffee. I mean, I look in the mirror and see me. But people asking if they could get a photo with me happened so often, I thought I’d get an eye-witness opinion.

My friend stared me dead in the eye and said, “There are angles of your face where it is absolutely fucking freaky how much you look like him.” Apparently Hugh and I are not only from the same part of Sydney, we’re the same height, same age, same build. No really, same build. When he’s not Wolverine, Hugh is apparently more like Magneto.

In 2016, I had started a new job in an advertising agency in LA where there was a producer called Jerri. Jerri is a British lass who calls it like she sees it and does not suffer fools. Or imposters. I loved working with Jerri. But when I turned up at her desk for our first ever meeting, she swung around in her chair, took one look at me and said, “Oh, right.”

Off the puzzled look on my face Jerri continued. When she’d seen the pic on my email, she’d thought I was, “one of those fucking tossers, who puts up celebrity photos as their profile pic. I thought, who’s this knob? But, yeah, you do fucking look like him.” 

I can confirm first-hand that there is no greater feeling than benefiting off the talent and hard work of another human being. No one ever asked me if I was him, and I never said I was. But lovely things would just happen. I was sat at wonderful tables in restaurants where I had no bookings, salespeople would line up to help me in stores, people would smile and wave hello in the strangest of places. Like when I was going in and out of bars. It’s possible I’m the reason people think Hugh Jackman’s gay.

Anyway, I also got to meet a lot of his friends.

Charlie Hunnam dropped by my table at a café to say hi, Jean-Georges Vongerichten who is a famous New York restauranteur (and Hugh’s next door neighbor) hugged me in his restaurant, and I think Anjelica Huston once nodded at me. Not 100% on that one, but I’m claiming it.

I used to also regularly attend the LA screenings of the group, Australians in Film. All the A-list Aussie actors and directors would come to this small cinema on Cahuenga to present their latest movies. And sometimes, they’d just drop by to watch one. It was hilarious watching the looks on people’s faces as I’d walk through the doors. They would turn, begin to smile, and some would even start walking over. That was until someone yelled out, “It’s just fuckin’ Karl everyone!” There was no cutting the line for me at those events. 

However, in this past life of LA and advertising, I spent a lot of time in the American Airlines Lounges in LAX. This is the stage where I performed two of my greatest roles. Benedict Cumberbatch once got into an elevator as I was getting out. My assistant at the time was a massive Benedict Cumberbatch fan. We’re talking a wallpaper-the-cubicle level of fandom. So I saw Benedict most days. But this was the first time in real life.

So naturally, I said, “Oh, hi Benedict,” as we passed each other. I turned around just in time to see the recognition cross his face as he said, “Oh, I’m sorry, hello you!” as the doors closed with a loud, “Ping!” And scene.

But what will go down as one of the greatest moments of my life, was a two-hander between myself and the great Sigourney Weaver. Ask anyone who the best actress of all time is, and many will say Meryl. Or Julianne. Or Cate. And quite rightly. But for me, it’s always going to be Sigourney. Action, comedy and drama. There’s literally nothing she can’t do. All hail.

So when Sigourney rolled out of the Lounges as I rolled past, she stopped to wave hello and say, “Have a good flight.” All I could manage was to grin like a moron and wave back. But later, I sat in my plane seat thinking that this aircraft could crash and burn and I wouldn’t care. Wouldn’t even grab for the oxygen mask or lifejacket. Because my life was now complete.

But it’s not all free, this gig as Hugh Jackman’s real life stand in. When you look like someone famous, and they are actually a really nice person by all accounts, you have a kind of weird responsibility. You’re like an ambassador. If you act like a dick when you’re ‘getting Hughed’ that shit ends up on Twitter. 

One time I was using the bathroom at The Grove, a large upscale outdoor mall in the middle of LA. I got Hughed by the bathroom attendant the moment I walked in. There’s a funny thing that happens. The person looks at you, then recognizes who they think you are. There’s a moment of shock, then recovery, then the knowing smile. They know, that you know, that they know. But no one’s going to mention it. It is now a shared joke between you. 

So after what was the longest, loudest, most awkward pee of all time where it was just him and me listening to my stream hit the urinal (how bout that echo, huh?) I went to wash my hands. The attendant pumped the soap, handed me a towel and then I went to tip him. I’ve been a barman and a waiter and I know what it’s like to count on tips to pay your bills. Only, I discovered that I didn’t have a single cent on me.

I was as embarrassed as he was disappointed. And despite him saying it was all cool, I told him I’d be right back. I raced outside to find my ex-husband. 

“I need some money!” I exclaimed.

“Why?” he asked.

“The guy in the bathroom thinks I’m Hugh Jackman and I don’t have any money to tip him.”

“Oh, OK,” said my ex, who was an expert wingman in these moments. 

He pulled out his wallet and handed me a dollar bill.

“Really?” I asked.

This prompted a whole conversation around how much Hugh would tip. One dollar was definitely too cheap. Ten seemed a bit douchy. But five? Five feels good. Seconds later, and much to the surprised of the attendant, I was dropping a fiver in his jar. Just as he dropped his phone back in his pocket, abandoning his “Wolverine is a cheap bastard, but he’s packing a mean weapon,” tweet. 

“You are the fucking man, dude! You my favorite.”

“Thanks mate,” I said, “I appreciate it.”

We’d had a really good moment together. And we could both feel where this was going. Bro-hug.

“Bring it in man,” I said.

“For real?” he exclaimed as pulled me close. Damn, I thought, this dude is strong.

Then I was on my way out of the bathroom, leaving only good will in Hugh Jackman’s wake. I was scot-free. So I don’t know why I did it. But I turned around and said, “Remember; go see the film!”

“You know it man! I’m taking my girl, I’m taking all my buddies!” he exclaimed, pounding his chest.

Then in 2018, I left my American life behind when I moved to Berlin. If any Berliner ever thought I was Hugh Jackman, they never let me know. Because that would be about the uncoolest thing you could do here. So, this should be where the story ends. 

But, Berlin. 

Hugh Jackman was doing a world tour last summer. His one-man song and dance show had sold-out for three nights at the Mercedes-Benz stadium. At the time I thought how funny it would be if I finally ran into him in Berlin. I kept half an eyeball out for him, but no dice.

At the same time, my best mate Uli had had just moved back from America to Germany and was bunking at my place. Then Uli rang me up in the middle of the day with some news.

He began by saying that he’d been sitting in a café when I had walked in with two guys and got into the line for a coffee. Uli told me that he’d stood up and waved over at me. At the sound of, “Hey Karl,” I turned, saw him, and then blanked Uli completely.

I interrupted Uli’s story to say that I didn’t remember this at all. And I quietly wondered to myself if this was the early onset of dementia. Wow. Guess I did move to Berlin and go crazy after all. What a cliché.

Uli continued his story by saying that he sat back down in his café chair thinking how odd my behavior was. Then as luck would have it, the only spare table in the place was right next to Uli’s. So me and my friends popped ourselves down there. And that’s when Uli realized that this actually was not me. But actually was, Hugh Jackman.

Quick recap: Uli. Best friend. Living with me at that time. Got it mixed up. Just saying. Plus, first time in recorded history that Hugh has been mistaken for me. Again, just saying.

Anyway, processing how weird this moment was, Uli told me that he plucked up the courage, leaned over and asked, “Excuse me, are you Hugh Jackman?” And just like every report you hear of what a lovely guy he is, Hugh turned to Uli, smiled and said, “Yes, that’s me. How are you?”

“I’m good,” replied Uli. “I was wondering, I have this friend. He’s Australian, lived in LA for years, and got mistaken for you all the time. Have you ever heard of this guy?”

This is the moment when I was hoping Hugh would have jumped up from the table, clapped Uli on the shoulder and said, “Finally! I’ve been hearing about this guy for years! So crazy, all my friends have met him!”

Instead, he looked at Uli, cocked his head slightly and said, “No, never heard of him.”

At this point in Uli’s story, I was actually a little heartbroken. It had happened so often, for so many years, that I thought by now somebody he knows would have said something to him. And I’d been a really good ambassador for the Jackman brand. But then Hugh asked Uli, if he had any photos of me.

Uli told me that with shaking hands, he opened his photos, found a very Hugh-ish one of me, and handed over his iPhone. Hugh looked at my photo for a moment before finally saying, “Oh yeah, I can see it.”

His friends/bodyguards then said to Hugh to pass it over. One of them held the phone, did a double take over my picture and proclaimed, “Hugh, this guy looks just like you! There’s just one difference.”

“What’s that?” asked Hugh.

“This guy’s way better looking,” said the bodyguard, pointing at my picture. The other bodyguard nodded in agreement.

“Shut up you guys!” Hugh said. He laughed at the joke at his expense before handing Uli’s phone back to him.

Later as they were getting up to leave, Uli asked Hugh if there was anything that he wanted to tell me.

“Yeah,” said Hugh thinking for a moment, “tell him Wolverine’s not pleased!” Then he smiled, laughed and went on his way.

Well Hugh, if you’re reading this, and I know you are, I have a message for you too. You’re welcome. 

And you owe me five dollars.