Meet Eshaana Sheth

Today we’d like to introduce you to Eshaana Sheth.

Eshaana, please share your story with us. How did you get to where you are today?
This is always a very loaded question for me to answer, but it’s sort of been this slow-burn method of coming out of my shell and allowing the outside world to hear and see the voice within. I think a lot of that has to do with my varied influences, growing up.

My parents immigrated to the States from Mumbai or (colloquially “Bombay,” which has its own set of nuances). They were into this emerging Western rock scene in the ‘70s, so while I grew up with a lot of Indian tradition, I was also exposed to a lot of European textual influences that my parents grew up with as well. It’s a weird feeling to sit with, because although I’m so grateful for having been exposed to so many cultural influences, I do feel like there was such an ingrained premium placed on whiteness and the West for so many Indians in order to appear more palatable and cool in America. I grew up outside of Los Angeles in the Inland Empire, completely removed from the entertainment landscape, in a predominantly white community. I was sort of a baby-adult, always the youngest at the grown-up parties, quietly collecting material from the older forces around me. I remember having to sit through Richard Attenborough’s A Bridge Too Far (1977) at, like, eight years old and being like, what the hell, this is so boring, why am I watching a movie about World War II?! But, in hindsight, things like that provided me with the patience and thoughtfulness to dig my claws into my curiosity about people. I always felt displaced and never found myself being able to fit into one social or ethnic group. I was too basic to hang with the weirdos and too weird to hang with the popular kids. So, by virtue of never fitting into one “scene,” I kind of fit into them all, and I think that was the springboard for where I’ve come now.

I grew up with two older brothers, which provided me with an interesting lens. We developed these unique and expansive sets of interest – we had an awful fake band, wrote comics about a dog who solves mysteries, and created an extensive soccer league with my stuffed animals. But, it was all done in a private capacity, because I didn’t feel like I had the access beyond my imagination to do those things or show that part of myself to my friends. All I wanted to do as a kid was perform. But no one in those public landscapes looked like me. Coming from cultural modesty, I didn’t understand why everyone was so showy about their talent. I was shy and introverted, tall, chunky and brown. So, instead my parents put me in sports.

In 6th grade, I had a teacher who introduced me to creative writing. It was the first time that I felt like I had an outlet that could make me feel heard, especially as a precocious, albeit pretentious, angst-ridden pre-teen who wore torn socks on her hand and listened to The Offspring. But, it wasn’t until college that I really discovered my voice. I met other multi-faceted creatures and the angst morphed into self-deprecating humor. I studied anthropology at Barnard College of Columbia University in New York City and the diverging influences started to make sense. I took various arts and humanities courses, studied abroad in Australia…my education and community opened my eyes to a broader world. At the time, the industry and popular imagination was shifting as well; all these women were writing, directing, acting, and producing their own work—women who weren’t conventionally beautiful or comfortably cool. But, I faced some similar problems as I did in high school. I didn’t feel like I could authentically express myself within extra-curricular theatre or “artsy” peer groups, so as per usual, I felt most understood by my professors, in realms where I was creating my own work. I capped my degree with a thesis that involved interviewing male bankers who worked in Wall Street during the financial crisis. I connected it to comedy films aimed at male audiences to understand the generational crisis Millennial men feel to accumulate and assume normative institutions of adulthood.

After college, I moved to LA by default, since it was close to home, with plans to move back to New York. It was much more difficult than I thought it would be, and it became so hard that I finally just hit an edge and took a part-time day job in sales for a wellness company. The research for my thesis inspired me to try my hand at journalism, and I took a radio gig on the side. Simultaneously, I was revisiting a play that I had written that got produced at Columbia. As I was pitching it to theatre companies, my team fell through, and just as I was about to shelve it, I was put me in touch with a team of film school grads who were interested in adapting it as a short film. I was so green and intimidated; it was such a new world for me. It was definitely a trying project riddled with conflict. One year later, our lead actress from the short called on me to write more material for her. I ended up getting sick and had to take a medical leave from work to get surgery. It was during my recovery that I wrote The Butter Knife (2018)—a topical, romantic comedy about a British man and American woman that’s loosely inspired by something really weird that I did on a date and somewhat reflective of everything I consumed in LA in my early 20s from the Euro 2016 Championship to Brexit to Trump getting elected. It was a micro-budget project, and we had really small goals for the film. I became the director, writer, and producer, and together we made what I call “the little movie that could” that clawed its way into the international film festival circuit with all these huge-budget films. I suddenly found myself in “the biz” and could no longer hide from social media, self-promotion, and talking about my craft publicly.

The Butter Knife introduced me to a developing community of supportive creatives who’ve urged me that this feeling of fraudulence and self-doubt is one that I need to let go of. Since, I’ve been getting back in front of camera as an actress and comedian. I’m in a sketch comedy group, I write satire for a few publications, and perform in comedy shows. For the past six months, I started modeling. There’s this rising, niche market called curve modeling. It’s not quite straight-size and not quite plus-size, but somewhere in between. It’s supremely challenging in a good way. I’ve struggled for years with body image and perfectionism, so I’m honored to be part of a community of kick-ass women who are redefining what it means to be a model.

I’ve realized I just need the balance of being in front of as well as behind the scenes. Right now, I’m focusing on my film projects in post and pre-production as well as my modeling and comedy journey. As I’ve always suspected, I think it may be a long, winding journey for me. But, I’m trying to surrender.

Has it been a smooth road?
Oh, god no. Sometimes I can’t imagine a more difficult road, monetarily and otherwise. I essentially uprooted by life inadvertently by moving back to California after college. It was a huge adjustment being in the vicinity of my family, and I felt a lot of obligation to take care of them, so to speak. All my friends stayed in NYC, and I felt depressed, catatonic, and aimless, but I felt badly admitting that I was struggling having had so much educational privilege, and I think invalidating that pain made things twice as hard for me. It took me a few years to build my confidence again and find the moxie to entertain my artistic ambitions despite not having the technical skills or experience to do so. I’ve had to make lots of social and lifestyle sacrifices…sleeping on couches, compromised living spaces, and it can be really challenging especially as a person who likes structure and needs differentiation in terms of the types of people I hang out with.

Even though I know I’m young, I fall into the trap of saying, I wish I had started all of this earlier, but the industry wasn’t where it is now. It didn’t feel ready for me, and I certainly wasn’t ready with myself. I’ve never really been a bookish chick…so I’ve learned from listening to people and their insight. It’s funny, my friends in their 30s keep telling me that I’m ahead of the game in terms of my awareness, but sometimes when you prioritize internal work over external work, you lose out on a lot of sexy experiences that society tricks you into believing are important, even if they may actually be quite empty and uninteresting when you examine them a little deeper. It’s like your brain won’t let you choose those things, knowing they won’t fulfill you, because you can’t undo self-awareness, even though sometimes you wish you could. I feel like I’m going about things very differently from the traditional 20s pathway–being ahead in certain regards and very behind in others. Sometimes, it makes me feel like an alien. Often times, I envy my friends in secure 9-5s that are much more conducive to healthy relationships and lifestyles, but they too envy my path as well. The thing is, every path has a drawback. And as cliché as it sounds, everyone truly has their own, and neither is right or wrong. It feels like my life is just starting…I’m getting excited about things again. I have many middle-aged friends, widowed or divorced, who are rediscovering themselves, having their rebellious moments now. We glamorize young people so much in our culture, but it’s important that others also feel empowered and have a space in media into which they can authorize their narratives. Have hope, cultivate support, keep it light, and keep it moving.

We’d love to hear more about your work and what you are currently focused on. What sets you apart? What are you most proud of?
I’m a published writer, independent filmmaker, actress, comedian, and curve model. Freelance. Within all the things that I do, I think the unifying element is storytelling. It’s annoying how buzz-word-y a “storyteller” is nowadays, but it’s just the only way of putting it.

My work tends to be either talky, topical and slice-of-life or else silent and stylized. I think I’ve always had an ear for dialogue and what’s happening culturally at very early stages of trends. It feeds into my script-writing, critical analysis, and wit. I also love doing comedic impressions! It’s become my favorite pastime since I blew out my ankles years ago playing volleyball. I recently got to do a VO impersonation of the narrator of House Hunters International, and it was a small dream come true, because I have the softest spot for pseudo-celebrities. I’m kind of a weird mix as a comedian. My work is dry, specific, and satirical but always with an accessible element of heart and innocence, because that plays into my simple, suburban roots. I’m more of an actor’s director than a filmmaker, for sure. I work abstractly and organically. The inspiration hits, I binge write or concept, and then the structure follows.

As an actress, I’m best when I feel I have a creative hand in constructing my role. As a model, I’ve done both commercial and more editorial work. I personally gravitate towards moodier things, because I enjoy seeing the creative direction behind all of it. It’s like being part of a live art piece. I’m a goofy person, but my personal style is grungy with an edgier aesthetic. I like that balance of light and dark. Modeling plays into my darker, more powerful side.

I gather a lot of insight from minimal interactions, and I tend to approach storytelling not for the craft itself, but from the bigger picture of what’s happening in the world, with people, and with a blaring honesty within myself. I generate ideas in a specific way that plays into my perspective and intellectual curiosity about people and life. It’s not deliberate; it just feels it has to be said, as lame as it sounds. I’ve always had this weird ability to be present in given situations while my brain is simultaneously sorting things categorically and qualitatively. I’m awful with facts, dates, and historical knowledge, but I remember how people feel if that makes sense. I enjoy interacting with different types of people…lawyers, journalists, engineers, social workers, doctors, etc. so I think having a widespread world helps drive my work.

That said, I love acting and modeling because you shut that shit off! It balances the monkey mind. It’s like Step 2.

I value relationships so much, and working with kind, thoughtful people is more important to me than pure talent. That is one of the aspects that I’m most proud of with my film, The Butter Knife…the quality of our team as human beings. I’ve learned so much…I got to travel with the film, speak at Q&As, give presentations, attend red carpets on its behalf, and it’s played at historic theaters like The Chinese Theater, which seemed like a dream as a kid. It’s been officially selected at 17 film festivals and has won 6 awards. We’re aiming to release it soon online.

Is our city a good place to do what you do? How can LA improve?
It’s funny, I just went to NYC for some work and was talking about this very topic. I struggle at times with LA, because structurally, I find it very overwhelming. It’s sprawling and sometimes feels like Instagram come to life. It’s a grind, and being surrounded by people constantly hustling and “in it” all the time can make you feel like you’re never doing enough. I prefer the structure of NY that way, because, as someone with crippling anxiety, the buzz of the city helps me organize my thoughts better and get stuff done. There’s simply not enough time and space to over-analyze and perfect your craft to death. In LA, we have ample time to be inward in our cars, in our commutes, and while it’s a good thing, the quest for self-improvement can be a symptom of perfectionism in and of itself.

That said, what I respect about LA people is how creatively encouraging and supportive they are. The arts community is way more accessible and down-to-earth than elsewhere. I think people are generally willing to help one another out and it’s more conducive to a “gig economy,” because so many people are freelancing. Because of the attention to wellness, people are also fairly emotionally intelligent and compassionate, more-so than others think.

It’s a great place to pursue your dreams, but if someone were to move here, I’d recommend moving with conviction and intent. The hardest part of this profession that no one talks about is the isolation of the lifestyle. When you’re waiting to book something, or struggling to get your shifts covered at your side job, you’re doing it all alone, and there’s an added pressure in LA to appear happy and “killing it” all the time. Building community is important. There are people I met through the wellness community that helped me rehabilitate, and I think some of that healing work would’ve gone unaddressed elsewhere. It can be a lonely, financially stressful place, especially if you’re navigating the landscape as a single person, but there’s no way I could’ve done any of this, had I not been here. I think being real about the loneliness, spending less time on our phones, drinking plenty of water, improved urban planning, and maybe vertical living can help improve the LA experience!

Contact Info:

• Email: [email protected]
• Instagram: @the_eshaana
• Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/thebutterknife2018/
• Other: https://www.imdb.com/title/tt7830892/

Image Credit:
Turtle Media, Caitlin Hastings

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