Running Around New Orleans with Jason Kelce and Two Dozen Dudes Who Look Just Like Him

It’s a Tuesday in the French Quarter—arguably the most debaucherous 13 blocks in America— but instead of beaded tourists clutching three-foot drinks or slurping oysters, the streets are filled with bearded, heavyset men. A scavenger hunt of sorts is underway, with five teams of two scouring the area for Jason Kelce lookalikes. The former Philadelphia Eagles center (now one of the most in-demand figures not just in sports media, but media in general), is the final boss, and he’s got a sense of humor about this deeply bizarre spectacle unfolding on Bourbon Street.

“Anyone white, kind of overweight, bearded, same haircut—they’re going to look pretty spot on,” Kelce says, noting that he was compared to the plump actor Zack Galifianakis throughout his 13-year NFL career. “Nothing is more humbling than realizing you’re not unique whatsoever.”

A little background: thousands of people applied to be part of a contest staged by Marriott to win Super Bowl tickets. When the field was whittled down to the final five teams after an extensive interview process, the finalists flew in from all over the country to hunt down the 26 Kelce doppelgangers who are now scattered throughout the neighborhood, each wearing custom Courtyard Marriott letterman jackets with Kelce’s number 62 on the back and holding miniature footballs that the contestants are trying to collect. Jasons are lurking down brick alleyways, in the city’s many pedestrian malls, and posted up underneath the ornate balconies that give the French Quarter its distinct flair.

Taylor Hill/Getty Images for Courtyard By Marriott

As I join the teams searching high and low for the Jasons, it becomes clear to me just how phenomenal the casting was. The Jasons not only bear a physical resemblance to Kelce, they also act like him, nailing the “nicest bro you’ve ever met” vibe. One of the lookalikes, a bemused guy named David, gives me a green and silver Mardi Gras necklace with the Eagles logo dangling from it. When a contestant stumbles upon him, they chest bump, and David nearly knocks him into a nearby lightpost. Some Jasons are actors that responded to a casting call, others are school principals or work in petroleum. There’s a blonde Jason and a notably short Jason, but they share one key thing: “They all have personalities!” one contestant says gleefully as they whiz past me.

After about an hour, there’s a brief intermission in Jackson Square during which the results so far are tallied. Many of the Jasons play an impromptu game of football in front of St. Louis Cathedral. The team that found the most footballs is awarded a 45-second headstart for the final activity, hunting the one lookalike that possesses the golden football. The winners will get some quality time with the real Jason, tickets to the game, and Saturday night in a luxury suite at the stadium, which Marriott has turned into a hotel room.

If you’re thinking this sounds like a fantasy, well, you’re not alone. “When [my wife] told me about it I was like, ‘I know that’s a scam,’” says Donnavan Bryant. “Don’t give them no credit card, no socials.” Bryant and his wife, Maris, a couple from Dallas, emerged victorious. Less than ten minutes into the contest’s final portion, they found Derek, an HIV doctor from San Francisco who’s the keeper of the golden football. He’s also the one lookalike that’s truly a dead ringer, so much so that when passersby see him, they swear it’s the real Kelce. “You a center!” screams one man, correctly identifying Kelce’s position but not the actual man he’s yelling at. The owner of a beignet shop throws out a simple “Kelce!” An older couple waddles past and I hear the husband tell his wife he’s the “other one” (not Travis, presumably). The whole thing is a riot, but like any great sports-adjacent story, there’s also an emotional layer to it. Maris and Donnavan are not only massive Eagles fans, she’s also eight months pregnant. “She’s pregnant with a little baby Eagle!” exclaims Derek. “You can’t make this shit up!”

Maris learned about the contest on Instagram during a surfing trip to Pensacola, Florida, where Donnavan was training with the navy at the time. Once they determined that Marriott was not in fact scamming them, Maris began to feel antsy about her interview; she thought Donnavan being around while she did it would only make her nerves worse, so she kicked him out of the house. “I went to Taco Bell,” Donnavan informs me.

Traipsing through the city on foot for a few hours—in New Orleans’ typical humid, swampy weather—was a challenge for everyone. But as the only team carrying an extra body with them, Maris and Donnavan especially earned the tears that burst forth when they win. That, plus the grand reveal of a kelly-green Eagles onesie they brought with them, is enough to make some of the Marriott stewards a bit misty-eyed as well.

Once everyone dries their eyes, Jason Kelce himself emerges from a murdered-out SUV to gold balloons with his face on them, like he’s some sort of salt-and-pepper pope. He poses for photos with his army of lookalikes, signing their sweat-soaked jackets, yukking it up and making a huge scene on what is technically a residential street. A white-haired gentleman pokes his head out the front door of his home on Burgundy Street to see what all the commotion is about. His family has been in the house for generations, dating back to the 1800s. Once everything is explained, he calmly retreats with a smile and continues about his life. Just another day in the French Quarter.

Tyler Kaufman/AP Content Services for Marriott Bonvoy

About two hours and 45 minutes after this whole thing got going, once a winner has been crowned and Kelce has shaken every hand, I’m loaded into a van with a handful of fake Jasons, Maris and Donnavan, and several members of the Marriott crew. We’re on our way to the Caesars Superdome, site of the Super Bowl, and also where Kelce is waiting to show the winners where they’ll be sleeping the night before the big game. When we arrive, Kelce’s head is still spinning from seeing so many people that look like him in one place. “When I first saw these guys I thought, ‘Man, this is really well done,’” he marvels. “There’s been a lot of these lookalike [contests] that have popped up, not just for me. It’s a thing right now. It sounded like a really fun thing to do.” We’re sitting in the Superdome suite-turned-crashpad, where cheeky photos of him adorn the walls and a few of the pillows. I am struck by how famous he has become—a sixth-round pick who played a very anonymous position, vaulted into the zeitgeist at 37 years old thanks largely to a very successful podcast he hosts with his brother, who just so happens to be dating Taylor Swift. By the way, when asked if he’s worried about how annoying Travis might become if his Chiefs can pull off the first ever Super Bowl threepeat, he chirps, “He can’t get more annoying, so, no.”

Since hanging up his cleats after the 2023 season, he’s been a content machine—ESPN recently gave him a late-night show—and I bring up the idea that he could very well become the most famous offensive lineman of all time. “I’ve thought about it,” he begins. “It’s a position of servitude. It’s odd, I guess, being in that position. There was a little bit of a transition [after retiring]. As with anything, it’s usually gradual. Mine and my brother’s [profiles] have really skyrocketed over the last couple of years, which has been unique. You kind of just go with the flow, stay true to who you are, and try to uphold the values and principles—I don’t know, man!” He predicts that linemen getting famous will become a trend, both because social media and podcasting have blown up, and because the men in the trenches are usually funny dudes who don’t take themselves too seriously. As someone who just watched a gaggle of guys who could all be the third Kelce brother engage in a hotel room pillow fight, I can confirm that nobody here is taking themselves too seriously.

The strain of his new life is much, much different than the strain of his old life. “It’s definitely less stress than when Dexter Lawrence is trying to kill you, which is nice,” he quips with a Bill Murray-like cadence. In retirement—which doesn’t totally feel like the right word to describe someone as busy as he is—Kelce says the hardest thing was learning how to manage his time. In the “militaristic” NFL, a player’s daily itinerary is mostly set by the team: practice, workouts, games, etc. Now, the Philly legend is learning how to be a true adult, or at least the modern superstar version of an adult. Whether that means taking interviews from a makeshift Marriott with his visage all over the walls, fielding brand offers from various ice cream companies, or simply learning how to manage a schedule, he’s slowly but surely maturing into his post-football form. “How do I grow up?” he poses. “Number one, check your emails.”