Summarize this content to 2000 words in 6 paragraphs in Arabic Unlock the Editor’s Digest for freeRoula Khalaf, Editor of the FT, selects her favourite stories in this weekly newsletter.Ever since I was a kid, people have always told me that I looked like someone else. When I was younger, I looked like Waldo from Where’s Waldo. Or Shaggy from Scooby-Doo – I got that a lot. I think I have quite a cartoony face. As I got older, I turned into Novak Djokovic. I don’t really see it myself, but we do share some characteristics: the long face, a strong chin. It’s obviously flattering. Djokovic is one of the best tennis players in the world. It’s not like being compared to a serial killer or a former dictator.I get mistaken for him about twice a week, and it’s usually the same exchange. Someone will say, “Has anyone ever told you…” And I’ll nod, “I get that a lot.” I live in Paris, so people stop me most frequently during the French Open, in May and June. I shaved my head a few years ago, so we had the same haircut. I walked past this guy on the street who said “Djoko?” and because I’m so used to it, I turned around and waved. Then I had to apologise. He was very disappointed: “I really thought it was him.”It happens everywhere – on the Eurostar, in bars, on holiday. One summer several years ago I was in Italy with my family, eating lunch at a restaurant, when the owner came over to our table and started talking to me in Serbian. The weirdest place was at a nightclub in London. I was attending a club night for deaf people that had been organised by a friend – the bass was stronger, the floor was elevated, scents were being sprayed to heighten the senses. Most of the crowd was deaf. The whole night, people were mimicking playing tennis around me, and I could not understand why – until I realised that they were trying to tell me I looked like Novak.Even Roger Federer noticed the resemblanceThe selfies are a relatively new development. Last summer I was in a bar in my hometown, L’Île d’Yeu, a tiny island off mainland France, when a group of people in their 50s insisted on selfies, even though I kept telling them, “You know I’m not Novak Djokovic, right?” People often say this strange thing: “Let’s get a selfie – just in case.” I always oblige, but I find it awkward. It’s obvious I’m not him: I’m usually smoking a cigarette, I have tattoos, I’m out at a bar drinking alcohol. But they really insist. “We’ll tell our friends that we met Djokovic tonight.” Most of the time I just smile. But the last two selfies I had to do, people asked me to look more like him, to do a face that he would do. One of them said, “Don’t smile, because you look less like him. Do this face. Your profile is less like him, face the camera” – so now I’m even being directed.It’s strange pretending to be someone that everyone knows you’re not. I’ve never used it to get a better table or an upgrade on a flight: I’m too honest. I’m also terrible at tennis. I’ve been following it a little more since 2012, when I was first mistaken for him by a group of guys outside a pub in London. (The fact that I was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses seemed to make them more frenzied.) And my stepmother used to be a professional tennis player, so every year my family has a tradition of watching the French Open together. I guess because of the resemblance, I decided I was going to root for Djokovic. My stepmother is more of a Federer fan so we have a gentle competition. On an existential level, being mistaken for a world-famous tennis player has allowed me to make a clear judgement about how people perceive me. Djokovic is not an ugly man. It’s helped me release some doubts about my appearance. My husband Nico finds it hilarious, because he’s a big prankster. If we’re in a public place and people are looking at me, and you can tell they’re wondering, he’ll scream “Novak, Novak!” across the room. The real test was when I was photographing Roger Federer last year. I had planned to mention the Djokovic resemblance in a light-hearted way, but the beginning of the shoot was quite intense, and we didn’t get to chat. After his first look he went back to his van to change and said to his assistant, “Did you see the photographer? He looks exactly like Novak.” He was the first person who actually knows Djokovic, who has spent time with him and sat in front of him, to spot the resemblance. I realised there really must be something – not just a drunk person in a bar! I think Federer thought it was quite fun to be photographed by his frenemy, but he didn’t mention it to me directly – he’s too polite.Has it changed the way I take photographs myself? Not really, although I do find it’s a good anecdote that can help put celebrities at ease when I’m photographing them – a party trick to make people feel comfortable in front of the camera when I don’t have a lot of time to capture the shot. It’s also given me renewed respect for famous people because I recognise how exhausting it must feel to be happy and polite all the time, and to have your photograph taken constantly. I’ve seen celebrities recently where people don’t even ask permission for a photo: they just stand next to them, snap a selfie then step away. There’s not even an interaction. And I sometimes channel Novak’s mindset when I have a particularly challenging shoot coming up. I think, “He can do anything he puts his mind to, and so can I.” I’m quite bad at sport, but every time I photograph athletes or sportspeople, they seem to transfer the respect they have for Djokovic to me. When I photographed the French fencer Enzo Lefort for HTSI ahead of the Olympics last summer, for example, it created a little respect and distance. I’m always rooting for Novak, and want him to succeed. So when he does things that I don’t necessarily want to be associated with, I think, “Come on Novak, you can do better!” But he recently did a nice shoot and interview for GQ magazine and he came across well. I thought, “I’m proud of you.” I also thought: maybe I should try a yellow sweater.Photographing Djokovic would be fun. I’ve often wondered if we would have that moment you see in the movies, when twins meet for the first time and it’s as though they are in front of a mirror. Perhaps it would be like meeting a long-lost brother. I feel like I know him, which I know sounds weird. I actually don’t know much about his personal life – I don’t spend my life Googling him – but I still feel like I’m close to him because we share these physical traits. He is part of my life somehow. What would I say to him if we met? I guess just thanks for being one of the best athletes in the world because it’s really helped me too. And of course, it would be great to finally be the one that gets the selfie.
