Michael J. Fox was the most popular star on TV—at the height of Family Ties—when he was cast in Back to the Future… which he would film at night after spending all day on the set of his sitcom. This exhausting yet thrilling period of Fox’s life is the subject of his new memoir, Future Boy: Back to the Future and My Journey Through the Space-Time Continuum, co-written with Nelle Fortenberry.
io9 is excited to share an excerpt from the book, which releases today—conveniently just ahead of Back to the Future‘s shined-up return to theaters in honor of its 40th anniversary.
My Back to the Future wardrobe came together over that weekend, with final adjustments made right before I started shooting on Tuesday night (a pair of naff suspenders were the last piece added to my ensemble, right before they rushed me onto the set). I loved the tailored 1950s clothes I got to wear. There was a candy quality to the colors and patterns that really appealed to me. One of the cool things about the wardrobe: I wore mostly primary colors in 1985, but when I time-traveled back to the 1950s, my clothes shifted to a pastel palette. My hair also changed for the period scenes—the era required the hair and makeup team to slick back my locks. I smelled like Tenax pomade for months after filming wrapped.
Playing Marty McFly coincided with my burgeoning interest in fashion. Three years of a Family Ties salary had allowed me to pay off old debts and build a bank account. For the first time in my life, I had money to spend on my clothes. I especially loved buying flashy shoes.
My robust earnings would later go toward a slightly bigger purchase: I bought a house for my parents in Burnaby.
Soon after the explosive success of Back to the Future, the mayor of Vancouver invited me to emcee a gala to fund the city’s new symphony hall. I flew to Canada and stayed with my parents, declining the offer of a luxury hotel. On the night of the event, I strolled into the kitchen in my Armani tuxedo, which I’d paired with black Converse sneakers with a skull and crossbones stitched into the fabric. My dad appraised my look with a frown. “You can’t wear those shoes,” he insisted. “They are disrespectful for the event. Go put on something more appropriate.”
Here I was, standing in a house that I bought, with my dad telling me to go back to my room and change my shoes. “Dad, what’s important here is that they want me to be me. I’m just not a patent leather shoes guy. In the process of raising me, you probably noticed that I sometimes make my own rules, and even though you don’t see it, the skull and crossbones affirm who I am.”
The point I was trying to make to my dad was that I didn’t want to lose my identity within my newfound fame and success. Every time I looked down at my shoes that night, I was reminded of my true self, and I pledged not to pretend to be someone that I’m not.
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