Every TIFF, celebrities take over Toronto. This year, I would be one of them — kind of. My editors asked me to undertake a major challenge: Spend a night pretending to be a star and see how far I could take it. Could I get offered tons of swag? Have people ask to take selfies with me? Crash a VIP party?

I enjoy some elaborate performance art. I said yes immediately.

My first step was to create an alter ego. I called her Sofia, a French film star, who, like Cher, requires no last name. Sofia always wears red lipstick and very high heels; she never texts back and she never goes to the bathroom. She is, in short, many things I am not.

So how did the Sofia adventure go? Rather génial, actually.

Here’s how I pulled it off.

11 a.m. THE PREP

Since a major part of the success of this operation involved looking the part, I headed to Hudson’s Bay’s personal shopping department. (This service is free, so you don’t have to pretend to be famous to access it.) When I arrived, two stylists had prepared options based on my Sofia mood board. After an hour in the dressing room, I finalized my looks: For day, an oversized Topshop sweater and black snakeskin Design Lab boots, and for evening, a Topshop’s ’70s-inspired Glitter Midi Slip dress.

Next, I went to Yorkville’s glitzy Radford Salon to create my beauty look. While my Old Hollywood glamour curls set, the makeup artist began creating ’60s-style winged liner, inspired by Sharon Tate. The process took just over three hours, but when I looked in the mirror, I barely recognized myself. I looked beautiful. Just before the makeup artist slicked on my red lipstick, I asked her to hang on so I could make a hamburger disappear. I completed this task in less than two minutes.

4 p.m. AT THE RITZ

Every star needs an assistant, right? I enlisted my friend Jordan to be my mini entourage, and we sped to the Ritz-Carlton, one of the city’s top festival hubs. In the lobby, Star photographer Steve Russell snapped paparazzi-style portraits of me, which attracted eyes but no questions. Jordan and I headed to the hotel bar, which was guarded by a tough-looking man with an earpiece. I asked if it was a private party or if we could go in. “You can go wherever you want,” he answered. That’s when I knew the plan was working.

5 p.m. THE SELFIE

In the bar, we ordered hilariously expensive Prosecco. The staff sent over a complimentary second round, but Jordan and I ducked out to complete a very important mission: Secure the fan selfie. Outside the hotel, people were camped out in the rain behind a barricade waiting for celebs to exit. My friend Paul was planted in the crowd — his job was to make a fuss when he saw me.

When Jordan and I sauntered out of the Ritz, Paul called out like his life depended on it and shouted for a selfie. “You OK with this, ma’am?” a Ritz security guard asked me. I gave a brief nod. “Sofia loves to take pics with fans,” purred Jordan, as the security guard escorted us over to Paul and another selfie-seeker, who had adopted Paul’s feverish excitement. After Paul and my confused (but eager!) new fan posed for photos, Jordan asked the security guard to call us a cab. Instead, the staff insisted that we take the Ritz house car. “It will take you wherever you want to go,” promised a valet. Jordan and I settled into the luxe black Audi and squealed silently: The seats had built-in massage chairs.

6:30 p.m. THE PARTY

I had a hot tip about a party: the pre-premiere of Blackbird (starring Susan Sarandon and Kate Winslet) hosted by the Nordstrom Supper Suite at MARBL. I marched up to the man in black with the clipboard at the front door, pointed to a name on the list and announced, “I’m with them.”

We got in. It was that easy. But I guess that’s just what happens when you’re really, really, ridiculously good looking?

Inside, we spotted Blackbird stars Susan Sarandon and Rainn Wilson. Jordan and I started chatting with a waiter. “Are you in this movie?” he asked, suspiciously. I told him I was. Turned out he was an actor, too, and he had questions. What role did I play? Had I seen any of the plays he’d been in? I did my best to answer: a background role, and no, we’d been working mostly in my native France. He seemed to buy it. I celebrated by eating a tiny tomato kebab.

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As we left through the back exit just to seem cool, we passed Sarandon. She sized me up over her sunglasses, which she wore even though she was indoors and it was dark outside. I felt a chill go through my entire body. I slid on my own sunglasses on and got out of there.

8:30 p.m. DINNER

By this point, Jordan and I needed a little anonymity, so we went to Fresh on Spadina, one of our go-to casual spots. Turns out, though, that there’s no rest for a (faux) A-lister. We were early for our reservation, but the staff seated us immediately. As I walked through the restaurant to our table, I scanned the restaurant and noticed that everyone was already looking at me. While we ate, I could feel eyes on me from around the restaurant. We received the best service I’ve ever had.

10:30 p.m.: THE AFTER-PARTY

Jordan and I arrived at the Mongrel Media party at Campbell House. We were on the list for this one, so we sailed on in and grabbed a cocktail amid the Victorian decor and lavish wallpaper. Soon after, we found ourselves in the karaoke room. “Get up there!” said a woman stranger, insisting that I swap my stilettos for her slides. I grabbed the mic, nodded at the backing live band and launched into “Psycho Killer,” with Jordan by my side. As we sang, the crowd doubled in size. In that moment, in my fabulous clothes, surrounded by applause, I felt like I really was famous.

Later, I struck up a conversation with a film distributor who told us that this party almost didn’t happen this year, because there were so many party crashers the year before. I nodded along and told her about my very real movie career in France.

1 a.m. THAT’S A WRAP

A few hours later, I was tired of being looked at and ready to call it a night. Loaded down with my free gifts (notably a BRNT Designs PRISM pipe which looked like an avant-garde ceramic vase), I teetered on stilettos across cobblestones to a cab. Leaning against the cool glass, I replayed the experience. Was there more to life than feeling pretty and being catered to? Absolutely, but it sure was fun. As I exited the cab, I saw the sheen of hairspray my curls had left on the window — a suitably absurd tableau for a night of absurdity. Finally home, I tumbled straight into bed.

Spa like a celeb

What better way to rejuvenate after a big night out than with one of the city’s most luxe facials?

A few days after my TIFF adventure, I headed back to Radford to spa as the style set does, with the salon’s signature Hollywood North Facial ($250, 60 minutes).

I settled into the luxe treatment bed as the esthetician applied a vitamin-rich mask to my face. The esthetician then used a wand from the spa’s Environ Ionzyme DF machine, which uses electrical currents to ensure deeper penetration of the mask’s formula, which addresses a multitude of skin issues, including sensitivity and dehydration. When the wand was on my face, I heard a high-pitched tone, especially when the wand was close to my temples or cheekbones.

Next, a sheet mask — the signature 24K Gold Hydrogel Mask — was placed on my face and alligator clips were attached to it so the machine could keep doing its thing. The mask is freezing — literally. Cooled to zero degree Celsius, the mask helps boost blood circulation and reduce swelling. After my big weekend, I needed it.

As soon as the treatment was finished, my skin immediately looked brighter and smoother. I looked, in fact, ready for my close-up.

Morgan Bocknek works on the Star’s Digital Desk, based in Toronto. She is also a Star contributor. Follow her on Twitter: @mobocks