We went to the Timothée Chalamet lookalike contest and didn't see Timothée Chalamet defector

In early October, ugly and mysterious posters began popping up around New York City, announcing that a Timothée Chalamet lookalike contest would be held at the Washington Square Arch on October 27 at 1 p.m. A QR code on posters linked to an event hosted by Partiful, a digital invitation platform New York Times Described as “vibey and very Gen-Z coded”. On the morning of the pageant, the invitation had over 2,500 RSVPs.

When we decided last week that we were going to the competition, we had a feeling it would bring out all the usual suspects. There will be online branches of traditional legacy media, of course, but we also knew the event would attract tickers and niche substack bloggers, like rats quivering in a pile of trash.

Just an hour before we arrived at the park, we spoke on the phone with the organizer of the event, who went to “Gilbert” Partyful Invitational. He revealed himself to us as Anthony Poe, a TikTok influencer who ate a bowl of cheeseballs in Union Square last spring, gaining fame as “The Cheeseball Man.”

“We have a penny-farthing,” Poe told us when we asked what we could expect. “It's a big bike.”

What kind of person looks like Timothée Chalamet in the competition? When observers started pouring in, the answer seemed to be “journalists.” If Timothy-wannabes were instantly recognizable by their hair, nose or jawline, journalists would be made clear by their cameras, lanyards and palm-held phones to record interviews. We identified a The Washington Post Press badges and microphones from the Associated Press and Daily Mail. Also while TikTokers held clip-on mics, iPhone cameras pointed in all directions. Everyone came to play.

“I actually don't care for Timothée Chalamet at all, which is why I think it's ironic that I'm here now,” Sam Schall, a content producer and blog writer told us in an interview. “I, personally, came here because I want to get content for myself. I'm very selfish.”

As the two of us pushed through the growing crowd, a man in a top hat suddenly ran up, holding a penny-farthing. It must be po. We followed him through the Washington Square Arch, past Liam Payne's memorial. New York Magazine lookbook setup, on the other side a red carpet and an arena of onlookers. On his tail were officers from the NYC Parks Enforcement Patrol, ready to stop the competition before it even began.

“We had no idea how big it was going to be,” Poe exclaimed to the crowd. “We want our producers to talk to enforcement there. We mean no harm—this is a peaceful assembly, and we want to cooperate. … All we can do now is be nice and have a good five-minute chance of doing it. So without further ado, if you are a Timothy, could you please come forward?”

Like the Avengers, they were assembled: a mass of tall Timothys and short Timothys, many with black curly hair, others wearing Wonka hats or Arakis-inspired outfits. Somewhere in the back, park officers blew their whistles to disperse. For shark blood, the photographers stepped forward, kneeling face-to-face with Timothy.

“It's the money shot!” Someone shouted.

Things were getting out of hand. A hungry crowd of content creators were pushing Timothy closer and closer as the Park Enforcement Patrol became increasingly insistent that we all have to leave. Two photographers who were attempting to place a white background against the arch's facade were issued a citation for not having permission.

“We're going to make a quick pilgrimage across the street,” Poe announced to the crowd. Then, he began to walk away, one of his compatriots carrying a large check for $50. Through the streets of New York, hundreds trailing behind, photographers rushing to the front. In the heat of the moment, the two of us split up, one of us—Heather—running to the new location with Poe, and the other—Christine—trapped by the Ark.

At 1:30 p.m., a text blast was sent to those who had RSVP'd for the event It read, “We cannot be stopped! Come down the street to Mercer Playground to meet our Timothy!”

That memo, however, was not well received by the chaos. There was a large crowd in Washington Square Park, confused about where the contest would be held. At one point, Spencer DiLorenzo, who looked like 22-year-old Timothy, was lifted onto someone's shoulder. All around him, the crowd cheered, their phones high in the air.

We interviewed DeLorenzo earlier in the week after finding him through a partial invitation. “I don't really find it to be a big deal,” DeLorenzo told us Friday before the contest. “Like, it's exciting, but I'm not going to obsess over it,” if anything, she said, hoping to meet new people at the event.

As DiLorenzo told us later when we reconnected at Mercer Playground after the competition, he met at least one new person: the real Timothée Chalamet. In a video that has gone viral, DiLorenzo is seen posing for a photo when suddenly, another man walks into the frame.

“This guy puts his hand on my shoulder, and I'm like, 'He's probably another guy,'” DeLorenzo said. As he looked to see who was squeezing the shot, he saw the name of the competition itself. “I was like, 'Holy shit. Although DeLorenzo couldn't win the real-looking contest happening a few blocks away, he was dubbed the “People's Timothy” by Arch.

At the same time as we were recording and collecting photos, the entire day was being narrated in real-time on TikTok and Twitter. People find out the angle of arrival of the real Timothy and spread the story of the arrest of a Timothy look-alike. (We later learned that four people were arrested at the event, but it's unclear how many were actually Timothys.)

“Obviously, it's changed a lot in the years that I've been covering things like this,” Scott Lynch, a freelance photojournalist on assignment for Gothamist, told us. He told us that in the past, it was only journalists who would attend to cover the event. The rest of the crowd will be the people making fun. “Now, a lot of people show up to get their own content.”

Far from being a spontaneous, low-budget production, the pageant was a highly orchestrated event planned in advance by the same man who drew hundreds to watch him eat cheeseballs and once uploaded a YouTube video titled “I Spent 200 Days” as an undercover As fur.” ​​The event was sponsored by Partyful, Poe told us, and contestant Timothy was supposed to get $50 just for participating. While Partyful didn't respond to our questions about his level of involvement, the company's CEO wrote on Twitter that the Partyful team is “to support There” Po.
“We ended up getting hit with a $500 fine + whatever for bailing out the arrested Chalamet (we'll get you out of the King) but as Anthony said: 'That's the price of culture,'” Paige Nguyen, producer of Poe , later wrote in a post on LinkedIn. “…our work is the Internet.”

In fact, Timothée Chalamet was a winner in the lookalike contest. After the final showdown between the two Timothys at Mercer Playground, the honor went to Miles Mitchell, a 21-year-old college student from Staten Island, who dressed as Willy Wonka and enthusiastically tossed candy into the crowd.

During the semifinal round of the competition, one of the judges asked Timothy to name one change they would like to see in the world. Mitchell's reply was “Free Palestine,” a response met with cheers from the crowd. As he would later tell us, it was something he was personally passionate about.

“Since that question was prompted to me, that kind of came out of my heart,” Mitchell said.

As the competition drew to a close, we entered the line of journalists and photographers to speak with the lingering Timothy. We asked Mitchell if other media outlets have asked him about his statement.

“Really, not really,” he replied. Mercer's playground was emptied, leaving only a few stragglers. The scene looked a little strange without the courage of the crowd. Mitchell stood next to the ridiculously tall trophy. It was shiny but plastic.

That evening, we returned to the office in Uptown Columbia Daily SpectatorWhere as student journalists we had a regular Sunday shift. When it came to a question people really wanted to ask us—have you seen timothy– We had a disappointing answer. We weren't the only ones. At the park, Christine overhears someone else in the crowd. “I have a question,” they said. “Have you seen the real Timothy? Can someone airdrop me the video so I can say I saw him?”

We both missed the guy as one of us literally ran to cover the competition and the other got stuck in the back of the crowd. But there was no angle we could cover that wouldn't be caught a thousand times over.