I didn’t have any Indiana Jones toys as a kid. I never dressed up like him for Halloween or tried to mimic his voice or gestures. Unlike Han Solo, I refused to think of Indy as larger than life. Instead, I thought of him as the same size as life and believed that his world and mine overlapped.
I didn’t just want his hat or whip or swagger. I wanted to be him.
Looking back on 18 years of adulthood, out on my own in the world, I can see Indiana Jones’ fingerprint everywhere. Every time I dove off a waterfall, swatted vines with a machete, or rumbled across the desert, I was getting to live my boyhood dream of being a master adventurer. I even dressed the part, choosing classic white t-shirts or sturdy button ups — never, ever touching anything with a logo. I bought a hat from a fisherman in Mozambique and wore it until it fell apart.
Basically, I was the entire production team — from director to costume designer — for my own Indiana Jones serial (hopefully an underrated one, like Last Crusade).