Miranda Sings, a satirical YouTube character played by singer Colleen Ballinger, is incredibly hard to emulate. Originally aiming to mock singers on the Internet who have no talent at all, Ballinger developed an entire way of thinking, speaking, acting and dancing for Miranda, and avid fans easily spot her strange quirks.
When I accepted the challenge to speak like Miranda for a day, I was so sure that it would be easy — both of us are sarcastic, egoistic and fabulous. I’m just missing the unmistakably bright red lipstick and her vibrato skills.
But the outcome couldn’t have been further from my prediction.
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Miranda wears old, baggy button down shirts and sweats. Her hair is pinned all the way back, so as to make her forehead seem as big as possible. But her most recognizable feature is the bright red lipstick that is smeared past the lines of her lips.
But rather than try to look as absurd — sorry, as fabulous — as Miranda, I tried to mimic her personality. She is blissfully unaware of how terrible her voice sounds, believes she is good at everything and refuses to hear anything different.
Much to the confusion of my friends, I continuously rambled on about how fantastic I was, and I tried to give “vocal lessons” to whoever was around, whether they would listen or not.
Miranda exaggerates all her words, opening her mouth wide for some syllables, while mumbling others. In a nasal pitch, she “accidentally” mispronounces her words, saying “Susscribe” for subscribe and “quetchion” for question — which earned me several concerned looks when I tried to mimic her affectation. When she sings, she opens her mouth as wide as she can to hit the high notes, and then indistinctly murmurs the low-pitched parts, paying absolutely no mind to key or rhythm.
I was only able to say a couple of Miranda’s signature phrases (“Squishy,” “That’s easy,” and “Hey guys, it’s me Amulya!”). Carrying on entire conversations in Miranda-speak was nearly impossible for me because I sounded so ridiculous that I didn’t know if I actually sounded like Miranda.
I must have done something right, though, because my accent was recognized several times throughout the day, even without the ratty shirts and lipstick. For example, the moment I started to greet my best friend Michelle Xu in character that morning, she threw her head back and laughed, “Miranda Sings?”
On the other hand, I got a couple strange looks from people who didn’t know who I was trying to imitate. Usually I’m pretty outgoing, but some of my classmates were completely baffled. They searched my face for whether I was serious or not. Several people saw my eyebrows twitching like Miranda’s, and asked if I was OK, which I thought was hilarious.
Sadly, the reactions I got were a lot more anti-climactic than I had imagined they would be. Most people I talked to acted as if nothing was off once they realized that I was not going to stop speaking like Miranda.
But keeping up the act completely slipped my mind once I got to my sixth-period P.E. class. Caught up in an enthralling game of ultimate frisbee and all the five warmups that came with it, it was too hard to concentrate on both talking like Miranda and not tripping over my feet. I fell out of character, and failed my challenge in the last period of the day.
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While my effort was admirable, I am ashamed to report to my fellow Mirfandas that no, I cannot talk like Miranda Sings for an entire day.