You could see them all the way from Humboldt Boulevard. An army clad in white T-shirts and blue aprons lined up for inspection in front of a crowd of hundreds stretching across the big hill in Humboldt Park.
The crowd was hungry and only one thing could satiate them: a hot chef.
Specifically, the hot chef from FX’s series The Bear, as portrayed by the actor Jeremy Allen White. On November 16, over 60 Jeremy Allen White lookalikes and hundreds of spectators assembled in Humboldt Park for Chicago’s very own lookalike contest.
Following a trend that began in Manhattan this October with a Timothée Chalamet lookalike contest, the doppelganger competitions have caught fire around the world. While the contests so far have focused on male actors, the subjects have varied and often reflected their host city. London set a match for the best Harry Styles that drew hundreds of onlookers and in Dublin, men in short shorts who resembled Paul Mescal competed for €20 or the equivalent “of three pints.” It doesn’t hurt audience turnout that the competitors are vying to look like someone easy on the eyes.
Unlike Chalamet, a native New Yorker who crashed the event in Washington Square Park, Allen White is not from Chicago and didn’t make an appearance. Yet locals feel a kinship with the actor who has twice played a Chicagoan, first as the rebellious south sider Lip Gallagher in Shameless and now in his Emmy Award–winning turn as Carmen “Carmy” Berzatto in The Bear.
“We’ve embraced him as our own,” said Lucy Mueller, who added that The Bear gives modern audiences a loving portrayal of Chicago like director John Hughes once did with his 80s films.
“I feel like there’s also not a lot of positive representations of Chicago,” Mueller said. “A lot is associated with crime and other things so it’s great to see good representation in films and movies.”
While Manhattan’s heartthrob of choice brought out an effete crop of gentlemen, the dozens of Carmys represented Chicago’s ideal man—one who has grit and working-class sensibilities. Patrick Mahon, who lives in Humboldt Park, can attest to the Bear’s accurate depiction of both Chicago and its kitchens. A restaurant industry veteran who once worked at since closed Japonais by Morimoto, Mahon believed the show nailed the feel of both the high-end and fast-food dining scenes in Chicago.
“It’s attention to detail, they do a fine job,” said Mahon, who committed to detail himself with his chef costume by wearing kitchen Crocs and drinking Welch’s vodka cranberry from a plastic soup container. “You’re drinking out of a deli in a dirty alley, trying to take four seconds to smoke a cigarette.”
A few Lipps appeared on Saturday but the majority of contenders channeled the brooding aura of Berzatto, the striving chef who transforms his family’s Italian beef joint into a fine dining establishment. A sea of lookalikes with dirty blonde curls, aquiline noses, and the sullen eyes of a young Gene Wilder paraded across the hill as cheers of “Yes, chef!” rang out.
Race and gender did not restrict who came out to battle for the title of best Jeremy. There was Jeremy Allen White and Jeremy Allen Black. There were men, women, and nonbinary, straight and lesbian, 20-something and toddler Jeremys. At least one contestant more closely resembled Matty Matheson, the real-life Canadian chef who portrays a handyman on The Bear. A Great Pyrenees named Trout arrived later wearing an apron covered with fish. Nearly every competitor, save the toddler, clutched a cigarette.
But only one could be crowned king. When organizers narrowed it down to three, it was no contest. While the toddler Jeremy and a female Jeremy donning a sandy-colored wig elicited cheers, the crowd roared when 37-year-old Glenview resident Ben Shabad walked up. He emerged from the throng of Jeremys smiling and waved his jacked arms to the audience. With his curly locks and prominent nose, Shabad was a dead ringer.
“I’m so happy,” Shabad said. “This is the coolest thing I’ve done all week.”
As promised, Shabad won $50 and a pack of Marlboros. He donned a plastic, golden crown as hordes of people, mostly young women, swarmed him.
The thirst for Allen White was palpable. You could hear it in the screams of women and see it on the cardboard signs that read “There’s a postgame interview in my bed.” Sexual tension hung in the crisp November air alongside the smell of tobacco.
Lakeview residents Sam Miller and Chloe Malkinson, who were both single as of publication, came in search of their own Jeremys.
“There’s something about Jeremy Allen White—it was the Calvin Klein ads—I just felt really drawn to him,” Miller said. “I thought this would be a funny experience after seeing Dev Patel in San Francisco and obviously Timothée Chalamet in New York. It just felt like, not only the hot guys, but a fun Chicago community moment.”
I spun around and asked a coterie of Carmys behind me who was single. Oak Brook resident Kevin Kajevic raised his hand and I pointed out Miller.
“Nice to meet you,” Kajevic said, as Miller blushed and giggled. “You like cigarettes?”
Miller’s friend Ari Huang looked on as the sparks and smoke flew.
“That’s the most insane meet-cute!” Huang said.
Charlotte Santa came from the Loop with the intention of finding her future husband at the event.
“There’s something just so sexy about a man with anger problems from Chicago who loves cigarettes,” she said. “I don’t know why.”
Some women can’t put their finger on what is about Jeremy Allen White that is so attractive. Jeremy, or perhaps Carmy, possesses a certain je ne sais quoi. And who better to embody that indescribable feeling than a francophone Jeremy?
“Since I moved to the U.S., people tell me that I look like Jeremy Allen White,” said France native David Moulin. Born with tousled hair, Moulin bought a blue apron at the last minute and drew tattoos on his arms and knuckles in black marker. “Yesterday we were having some drinks and my friends told me there’s this contest happening and it was kind of like a small, funny challenge to do together.”
Jackson Minshall not only resembled Jeremy but shared a deep connection with the show. Minshall grew up near the south side and briefly worked in a kitchen. He now works in film and has even had a chance to work with the production designer for The Bear.
“I worked in a kitchen for almost three years and it’s the same kind of atmosphere. A lot of screaming, a lot yelling, a lot of cuss words being thrown around, very intense,” he said. “Me being from around Chicago and working in a kitchen, I feel like I connected with the show and just connected with the atmosphere they’re building.”
Minshall stood in a group of Carmys, all sporting aprons and curly mops of hair. The secret to the perfect Jeremy, they agreed, was a prominent nose. Others argued that being Jeremy was less about a look and more about whether you carried yourself with a certain swagger: a pervasive stress that materialized in dark, purple circles under the eyes and chain smoking also emerged as a key ingredient.
Those factors all add up to the true Jeremy Allen White, but not Chicago’s. The people at Humboldt Park that day chose a Jeremy who embodied the city’s spirit of generosity and its sense of humor. Long after the crowd and the fog of second-hand smoke had dissipated, Shabad lingered and took selfies with every last spectator.
“I don’t even smoke!” Shabad could be heard saying across the field.
He was a true king among Jeremys and a man of Chicago.
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