I am perhaps dating myself when I tell you that I love Chris Gaines. For those of you who don’t know Chris Gaines, gather round.

In 1999, country star Garth Brooks lost his mind. The best thing about his spectacular breakdown was that he didn’t pull a Mel Gibson and go on a substance abuse/bar slut binge nor did he get all gross and bloated by seeking comfort in fried foods (that would come later). Instead, he created this alt rock persona, Chris Gaines who had a sad little soul patch and blond highlights and wore blazers and played the guitar. The Chris Gaines experience was so thoroughly thought out that he even had a biography. Gaines was born in Australia, FYI.

Brooks as Gaines hosted SNL in his persona, released an album and participated in a VH1 Behind the Music special. The sheer breadth of the promotional campaign really reflected the amount of clout Brooks had at the time. A whole complement of people participated in the project and allowed the insanity to take place and pretended that the whole thing wasn’t a. funny, b. weird and c. ludicrous.

The best part about the Chris Gaines situation is that the album, The Life of Chris Gaines, was actually GOOD. Not every song was world-shattering but it was very listenable and well-thought out. I remember slow dancing to Lost In You, the one song on the album that ever gained any traction and thinking it was the most romantic song I had ever heard. I still listen to that song, regularly. Sadly, no one really paid any attention to Chris Gaines. As you might expect, the album flopped. It was a big ugly mess and more than that, it was embarrassing all around. Either you knew the album had been released and wanted no part of it but couldn’t look away from the train wreck or you did buy the album and had to face the awkward truth of that. Even stranger, a year or two later, everyone had completely forgotten about the debacle. The American memory is shockingly short.

I’ve never forgotten Chris Gaines. Garth was crying for help. He was so massively popular as this paragon of country music virtue. The pressure must have been immense and he cracked. He wanted to sing alt emo music but he knew he couldn’t as Garth Brooks. As Garth Brooks, he had friends in low places and he had to sing the kinds of songs those dirty friends wanted to hear. Brooks was fortunate, really, that he had the power and the money to deal with his angst as he saw fit. The only thing he really lacked was any self-awareness or understanding of how the public would react to such a bizarre, public display of instability and self-indulgence.

I have an alter ego. Her name is Giovanna Rosenbaum. She is a fabulously successful and wealthy writer whose publisher offers her 15-book contracts and ridiculous advances. Not only does she crank out 5 or 6 books a year, they are always well-written and engaging. When Giovanna goes on book tours (which the publisher arranges and pays for), her adoring fans line up hours in advance just for a chance to have her sign their books.  She is married to her agent, Ben, who only takes 5% and thinks every word she writes is sacred. They are very happy together.