Taking The Smiths to the Extreme
“When I’m feeling sad, and I want to live in that space, I’ll put on the Smiths,” says Miguel Gomez, 33, of Orange, CA, a freelance copywriter.
“And then, when I’m ready to stop feeling sad, I put on Creedence Clearwater Revival. It’s a combination that works.”
“That seems wild to me,” I tell Miguel over a Zoom call.
“Why don’t you go to therapy?” I say.
“Because no one in my family has never been to therapy, they don’t get it. I’ll look weak if I go to therapy.” Miguel laments through the Zoom call.
I do have to admit he’s right. There is a stigma about going to therapy in the Latinx community. For some, it’s seen as a sign of weakness to seek mental help. And being weak in the Latinx community (in any form) is looked down upon.
He puts on The Smiths’ “Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others” from The Queen Is Dead album.
He opens up the top three buttons of his aqua silk shirt, puts on a pair of black rimmed eyeglasses, and starts swaying back and forth as if he were Morrissey on Top Of Pops circa the mid-1980’s.
He takes out a wide tooth comb, Alberto VO5 Hair Spray, a purple Remington Hair Dryer he got off Amazon, and commences to start shaping a Smiths-like quiff before my very eyes.
To my surprise, Miguel knows how to do up his hairdo!
“Miguel, oh my God, what a hairdo…” Miguel cuts me off.
“When my hair is in a quiff and I’m listening to the Smiths,” it’s Michael.
I was genuinely taken aback. I’ve never seen this before.
I’ve heard of people listening to Morrissey and the Smiths to deal with their feelings of sadness, longing, and depression, but this, I’ve never heard of – someone actually transforming into Steven Patrick Morrissey to deal with all their emotions.
Whereas before Miguel seemed like a regular Latinx dude, what some may call introverted or meek, before me stood a very confident man, a man who had something to say.
Adopting an accent similar to Morrissey’s, Michael opened up: “I tried talking to my family about it, but they didn’t get it. My mom said that therapy is for weak people, and if I wanted to talk to someone, that I should talk to God.”
“So she means like prayer?”
“Yeah, but what she means is that I should talk to God to give me strength. I just want to talk to someone to be listened to and not judged, and isn’t’ God the ultimate judge? Why should I look to strength for someone who may punish me for not having it.”
I wasn’t expecting such a strong and philosophical response.
“I’m going to have to think about that one, I guess.”
Michael started taking various selfies from different cell phone cameras, even some disposable cameras. He would pick one up, let it flash, drop it, and move on to the next one. He did this approximately seven times before I called him out. At one point, he seemed to start to sketch himself.
“What are you doing I ask?” with a period on every word because I genuinely did not understand what he was doing.
“Whenever I’m talking to someone as Michael, I like to pretend that I’m being interviewed by the British Rock Press, so I like to take pictures of myself.”
“Oh…” What else was I going to say?
He then turned his left profile, put on a Fedora hat with a white card on the left side brim that said “Press,” picked up a small blue notebook and No.2 Pencil, and said, “Mizzer, could you please go back to your mother. You seemed like you were on the cusp of a breakthrough.”
*I’m assuming Mizzer is to Michael as what Mozzer is to Morrissey?
He then took off the Fedora, turned to his right profile, and thanked himself for reminding himself to go back to the subject of his mother.
Michael to Reporter: Thank you.
Reporter to Michael: No, thank you. For your being bold, for being courageous.
Michael to Reporter: It’s so easy to laugh. It’s so easy to hate. It takes guts to be gentle and kind.
This is getting out of control. I know what to do.
“Miguel…” I say, knowing I won’t be able to get out my whole question.
Miguel as Michael snaps back at me (and snapping out of the chorus of “I Know It’s Over”) and says, “I told you. It’s Michael, not Miguel.”
Feigning a fake apology, I respond, “I’m sorry, Michael. I just wanted to hear more about your mother and your family. Why is it you think that they don’t support you wanting to see a therapist?”
Michael took this one in.
He picked up a glass of water that was not there previously (where did it come from?) and he took a sip.
“Look,” he said, looking at me in the eye as if I were in the same room with him, so not really looking at me head on, but where I would be if we were in the same room,
“I get it. She’s had a rough life. When you’re parents are immigrants, who come from a drastic economic and political situation, you can’t experience sadness because it somehow comes off as ingratitude for what they have sacrificed to get you this life in the US. But at the end of the day, no matter the situation, sadness is a natural emotion everyone experiences regardless of your situation. I just want to be sad and not be shamed for it.”
Michael ‘Miguel’ Morrissey hit me in the heart with that comment. I responded – “I can relate.”
As a Latinx man who has his own issues with seeking out help for mental health because of the stigma surrounding it in the Latinx community, Michael was speaking the truth.
Dropping the Michael Morrissey persona, Miguel screamed, “You can relate?”
“Yeah,” I said, “My mother’s the same way. You’re saying what a lot of us feel but are afraid to say.”
“Really? You mean it?” He said.
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”
Miguel started to cry. Like a lot. So I politely nodded and exited the Zoom call, when he put up his hand and said, “Wait, I’m feeling better! I’m happy now!”
He instantly buttoned up his shirt, put on a hunting vest, pulled out a yellow Fender Telecaster, and started singing “Proud Mary” from Creedence Clearwater Revival. It was pretty good actually.
He then said in a faux-Southern accent, “Name’s Juan. Juan Fogerty.”
I then exited the Zoom call before he started singing “The Midnight Special.”
Prologue: Miguel is now getting the help he needs from a professional therapist. He also started a YouTube Channel where he dons his “Michael Morrissey” persona where he speaks candidly about his own personal mental health journey. You can follow him on Instagram @mizzer.
