Oh my Gok

Tomorrow I'm going bridal shopping with Liron, a friend from work. The bride to be is very clear about what kind of dress she doesn't want but she's rightly wary of the over zealous wedding dress peddler. I'm therefore tasked with casting a critical eye on proceedings. Call me Gok.

Incidentally that's exactly what literally hundreds of people, most often complete strangers, have done for a tediously long time. Various derivations of “Fuck me, it's Gok” have been ringing in my ears wherever I've turned ever since 'How to Look Good Naked' hit our screens in 2006. At times it's felt like the the scene from 'Being John Malkovich' when John Malkovich goes inside John Malkovich's head and the only word spoken is “Malkovich”. Except I don't exist just inside my own head. Gok is all around. I dearly hope Gok himself have to contend with people coming up to him asking “Do you know who you look like?”. Going abroad on holiday hasn't been a reprieve either. Damn you globalisation.

The first person to gleefully make me aware of Gok's presence and our perceived likeness was my then house mate Vieira (not Patrick), with whom I share a proud history of getting absolutely wankered. In fact on any given night we were the most likely candidates to end up in a right state, Vieira the worst and me not far behind. He once mopped my face after I'd passed out with the same mop I'd used earlier to clean up his vomit. On another occasion after a night out on the tiles we shared a bottle of Absinthe that I'd procured from my part time job in an off-licence, as you do, and suffice to say it quickly went downhill from there. A tumble from the top to the bottom of the stairs, a chair put through a door and a barricade involving all my furniture all occurred but not necessarily in that order.

Vieira is particularly handy at the astute observation, his most common reference to me is “Swedish is some boy” which is probably fairly apt, so it comes as no surprise that it was him who heralded the start of my Gok years.

It's a definite mark of Gok's ubiquity that the Gok remarks have known no boundary, spanning all ages, genders, ethnicities, socio-demographics and so on, though thankfully I'm yet to have an older lady come up and ask me to make her look good naked. Encounters ranging from the banal to the surreal have ensued: posing for photographs, having drinks bought for me, people phoning friends and family to say they've met someone who looks like Gok (it sounds even more ridiculous written down), you name it. One time a woman followed me and a friend round Debenhams and when I went off to the fitting room she approached my friend and asked him if he was Gok's manager. “Errm...”

I find the whole thing rather inexplicable. I fully appreciate that most people won't have carefully studied our features to determine key likenesses (rather disturbing thought) but even on face value I don't quite see what the fuss is all about. Our ethnic origins are in the same vicinity, though Hong Kong and South Korea are many miles apart, and we both wear glasses. That's about it for me, and considering most oriental people wear specs that's a fairly tenuous link. To use a famous Twain-ism: the reports of our similarities have been greatly exaggerated.

Having said all that, we do share a keen interest in the high street, though I suspect he rarely forages in the bargain bin end in which I operate. I shall be channelling my inner Gok in this little number from River Island:

In the sale, of course, and at £10 it was just too good to resist, despite the upcoming, financially challenging festive season . I'm thinking black tuxedo jacket, or blue blazer and polka dot bow tie, or blue blazer and royal blue polka dot tie, or the fabled waistcoat. The polka dot provides endless opportunities. I shall thoroughly enjoy getting smashed whilst dressed to the hilt in polka dots. Despite Gok's assertions, it's totally all about looking good fully clothed.