Lukas Gage on His Memoir, Borderline Personality Disorder Diagnosis and That Infamous Viral Audition Video

Lukas Gage is experiencing a newfound authenticity in his life.

The 30-year-old openly gay actor, who gained fame for his roles in “The White Lotus,” “You”, and “Companion,” opens up in his new memoir, “I Wrote This for Attention.”

In this candid and humorous account, he discusses his traumatic upbringing, struggles with substance abuse, STDs, his time at a mental health treatment facility, and his brief marriage to celebrity hairstylist Chris Appleton.

“I’m an over-sharer,” Gage shares during a Zoom interview from Simon & Schuster’s office in New York City. “I likely reveal too much. But I adore memoirs where the author overshares, perhaps crossing a line, as they spark conversations around taboo subjects.”

This includes Gage’s openness about his borderline personality disorder diagnosis. “It carries a stigma and is often viewed negatively, but I found inspiration from artists like Julia Fox who spoke out about it. It helped me feel less isolated,” he explains. “I’ve grown tired of feeling ashamed of my sexuality and mental health struggles. I reached a point where I decided to stop holding back and to embrace who I am without apology.”

Reflecting on his brief romance with Appleton, which was officiated by Kim Kardashian in Las Vegas, Gage states, “Honestly, discussing that was much easier for me than delving into topics like mental health and my family issues.”

Gage was raised in San Diego, where he and his two brothers were brought up by their mother after their parents separated and his father started a new family. His acting career took off at 18, with his breakout moment coming in the first season of “The White Lotus,” particularly during a scene where his character Dillon engages in a provocative act with Armond (Murray Bartlett).

However, it was Gage’s off-screen actions during the filming of “The White Lotus” that made headlines internationally. In 2020, he released a video featuring a Zoom audition in which director Tristram Shapeero was unaware that Gage could hear him disparaging his living space due to not being muted.

Below is an exclusive excerpt from “I Wrote This for Attention,” where Gage reflects on the decision to share the audition footage online.

Excerpted from “I Wrote This for Attention” by Lukas Gage. Copyright © 2025 by Lukas Gage.  Reprinted with permission from Simon & Schuster, Inc. All Rights Reserved.

Auditioning is the most absurd process an artist endures. You’re handed scripts, usually the night before, and expected to showcase your talent by 9 a.m. the next day, all while being surrounded by fellow hopefuls who may seem more polished than you. Some might be taller, prettier, or just more seasoned. In fact, you might just be a draft of them.

Now, many of us missed the traditional audition room, but at least you didn’t have to deal with the technical issues that came with virtual meetings.

So, while with my fellow cast members, it felt entirely instinctive to share the audition video. I anticipated a few chuckles, but what struck me was how deeply it resonated.

“It’s insane that you have a documented moment of how poorly actors can be treated,” Molly Shannon remarked.

“I’ve thought about sharing it, but I wouldn’t want to get cancelled or anything…” someone chimed in.

“Why would you be cancelled for that?” came another voice.

“Or blacklisted? I’m just worried about ruining some guy’s life.”

The conversation went on deep into the night, but I felt I was on the edge of a figurative cliff, contemplating whether I had the courage to take the leap.

With the ocean waves outside gently crashing, it felt as if they were urging me on. Maybe I should draft something to post. Just let it all out.

I began crafting an earnest message with phrases like “shed light.” But I quickly deleted everything; it felt wrong, too cheesy, and insincere. So, I let my instinct take over.

PSA: If you’re a director who talks shit, remember to mute yourself on Zoom meetings.

Maybe it was too bold, but whatever, I thought.

Tweet, copy, paste. Post.

I sat up in bed, the waves outside seemed to mock me, whispering, You’ve just made a terrible mistake.

I tossed my phone across the room. I lay there, naked, waiting for the fallout, but my phone stayed silent.

Perhaps this might work out for the best. Maybe this will simply be a lighthearted reminder that the audition process can be somewhat bearable, I repeated to myself before finally drifting off.

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” Phoebe shouted at me when I finally awoke a few hours later.

“What do you mean? I was asleep!”

“LUKAS, YOU JUST DROPPED AN INSANE VIRAL VIDEO AND WENT TO SLEEP?”

“WHAT?”

“WHAT HAVE I DONE?”

“This is incredible! Joe Jonas just showed his support!”

“Seriously? That’s cool.”

“Yes! Listen to me; this is a wonderful thing. You’re going viral!”

“What if I don’t want to be viral?”

“Why wouldn’t you? Especially for something so amusing.”

“Well… what if they turn against me?”

“Why would they do that? Everyone loves you, and they can’t stand him.”

“It’s a win-win situation.”

“Exactly. That doesn’t sit right with me. This has spiraled; I just meant to share a laugh, and now it’s this… chaos. What if they figure out who it is? I don’t want to ruin someone’s life…”

“Chill. You didn’t name anyone. You’ve just posted a humorous audition tape.”

“I don’t want to be known as the viral audition guy for my entire career.”

“Lukas. People don’t have the attention span to worry about anything for more than a day. Enjoy the moment and the sunshine in Hawaii.”

My phone buzzed constantly, a flood of notifications. Each ping felt like a small affirmation. People I never imagined would know me were praising my response. But soon after, dread sank in: I had always wanted to be noticed, but now that I was, all I wanted was to retreat.

I worried they would unearth some embarrassing “truth” about me. What that “truth” was, I couldn’t exactly say—what if some unflattering photo of me popped up online?

Back on set, my fellow actors were supportive, even proud. But I dodged the producers as if they were contagious, which was exhausting during an actual pandemic.

The familiar routine of lights and sounds felt shocking. All I could envision were discussions they would have post-filming about my perceived liability. I felt certain I’d be replaced.

I splashed water across my face, the cliché remedy after a traumatic experience. It didn’t refresh me; instead, it shattered my AirPods.

I received messages from other producers, querying whether it was them in the video. Apparently, they all thought British accents were interchangeable, all seeking my assurance it wasn’t them and that they wouldn’t face backlash. I responded to some, clarifying who it wasn’t, but it only caused a wave of questions demanding to know who it was.

This must be how celebrities feel, I mused. So I sought advice from the most reliable celebrity I knew, Jennifer Coolidge.

“Coolidge, what the hell have I done?” I asked as I approached her at the breakfast bar.

She stepped away from her pressed-celery juice and delivered the best advice I could ever receive, words I now live by.

“Who cares?!” she replied, a mischievous grin on her face. Who cares?! It felt like she had revealed a profound truth. In that moment, I truly believed it.

The following day, I vowed to resist checking my phone. I was going to surrender to the universe or whatever that entailed. But just as I settled into a beach chair, my phone rang—an unknown number.

I ignored it.

Then it rang again. The same number. And again.

“Yes? Hello? What do you want—” I answered.

“Lukas, this is COVID compliance. You’ve tested positive. Please self-isolate for the next two weeks and avoid contact with others.”

Fuck. I had gone viral once more.