LOS ANGELES — Emma Stone wasn’t the only person crying in the Dolby Theatre lobby.
It was 2:27 pm when I first got choked up on Oscar Sunday. I was covering the awards for the very first time in person, and had finally arrived inside the theater after an hour-long odyssey to travel four blocks from my hotel. On Hollywood’s biggest night, nothing humbles you quite like street closures.
After some sweaty attempts at selfies on the red carpet, I eventually took a halfway decent picture of my tux. I promptly sent the photo to my dad, who helped me pick it out last weekend at Tuxedo World in Wyckoff, New Jersey (the same store where Team “Green Book” got their Oscar garb in 2019, as I came to learn).
Even as someone who notoriously sobs at everything, I’m still surprised by how emotional I felt just texting my dad. Like all my incredible colleagues, I’ve loved the Oscars my whole life. Growing up in Post Falls, Idaho, I watched the show every year with my sister and mom, who always said we’d one day get tickets and go together as a family. As a teenager, I threw Oscar parties with themed food and drinks, and made checklists of all the nominated films I had yet to see.
Three years ago, my boyfriend and I even started an awards season fantasy league with our friends, who pile into our living room every November for a nerve-racking, pizza-fueled “draft day.” (Margot Robbie and Ludwig Goransson were two of my biggest points-getters this season.)
It’s safe to say, it’s been a lifelong dream to go to the Oscars, and the tears didn’t stop when I took my seat on the main floor of the Dolby. They returned in the show’s first 15 minutes, as Da’Vine Joy Randolph won best supporting actress for her beautiful work in “The Holdovers.” And then again as I walked out buzzing from the Governors Ball after-party: phone dead, chocolate statue in my hand, wondering whether I’ll ever get to come back.
If you’re asking yourself, “Did this guy actually have any fun?” The answer is yes, of course. I’ll never forget being in the room for Ryan Gosling’s joy-bomb performance of “I’m Just Ken,” which was equal parts rock concert and A-list karaoke. (I see you, Emma Stone.) As someone who got hooked on Bacao Rhythm’s “PIMP” after seeing “Anatomy of a Fall” – I have the Spotify Wrapped receipts to prove it – I was thrilled to hear the song boom through the speakers as director Justine Triet made her way to the stage to accept best original screenplay.
And I’ll forever be haunted by the mystery woman who smiled and wept into Ariana Grande’s arms during a commercial break, to the point that Grande was graciously wiping tears from her face. (Who are you and what are your thoughts on the “Wicked” trailer?)
After nearly 11 years covering entertainment for USA TODAY, I’ve heard plenty about the ins and outs of what it’s like to attend the Oscars. But seated toward the back, I was still mildly shocked that I spent almost the entire telecast in an empty row, as everyone flocked to the bar during first commercial, never to return. I spent way too much time thinking about who decides what candies get placed under the seats. (Milk Duds and Swedish Fish? Really?) And because I’m 31 going on 61, I delightedly texted my partner about how efficient the ticket-scanning process was. (Like the show itself, those lines moved!)
By now, you probably have a cavity from all this gooey earnestness. I do, too. But there are some moments in life that are so special that you can’t help but be a little cringe, and if there were an Oscar for sincerity, I just pulled an “Oppenheimer”-level sweep.
If I have one regret, it’s that I didn’t meet Messi the dog. Maybe next year.
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