On Being in Costume
| Meta | |
|---|---|
| Title: | On Being in Costume |
| Creator: | Gaylen Reiss |
| Date(s): | 1978 |
| Medium: | print, online |
| Fandom: | Costuming, Cosplay |
| Topic: | |
| External Links: | On Being in Costume; archive link; WebCite. |
| Click here for related articles on Fanlore. | |
On Being in Costume is a 1978 essay by Gaylen Reiss describing their experiences at Star Trek World Expo.
It was printed in A Companion to Zeor #1, and is online.
Excerpts
For about two years, I've invented and worn costumes in various Star Trek gatherings: worn some as "daily wear" and others in contests. So when I agreed to have a picture of myself in costume printed in this fanzine, I also asked if I could have the opportunity to write an article about how it feels to appear in costume. I've discovered that there is an intense curiosity among the large numbers of non-costumers as to what kind of person would do such a thing, and about what it's like to go through such an experience.
The most popular question by far is: "Where did you get the idea for that costume?"
Well, that's both easy and hard to answer. The easy answer is, "Everywhere." The hard part is trying to be specific. I get ideas while browsing through stores, jogging around a field, at work (!), and in bed asleep. Since I have a relatively unchecked imagination, and since I'm not trying to copy any known character, my only limits involved how much of my convention savings I wanted to dip into, how sure I was that a thing would hold together until the end of the contest, and what wouldn't totally convince my family and friends that I had finally gone off the deep end.
My costume, as opposed to other beautifully intricate but generally silent "Look at Me" costumes, was meant to have a reason behind it. I took a lot of time to develop a personality and background for my character. Since the Fikirian Ambassador was a pure telepath, there would be no regular speech allowed. I had no qualms about assuming the silent role because I'm more of a listener than a talker, anyway. That's one of the neat things about characterizing your own costume. You can accentuate one of your personality traits, or you can select a totally different aspect to live that way for the evening. Silent, crazy, forceful, loud, dignified, funny, sexy, obscene . . . the choice is yours.
You'll find "Vulcans" who dress/act that way because that particular lifestyle fascinates them. And in the safety of a masquerade contest, they generally don't have to deal with the prejudice such personal characteristics often receive during their everyday Human life.
I was truly surprised at the number of people who told me they thought staying in character -- by not talking -- must be extremely difficult. They knew they couldn't keep quiet for five minutes, let alone an entire evening.
Leonard Nimoy answers that type of question by saying that characterization, or "acting," is his craft; that's what he's being paid to be able to do. Similarly, my reasoning would be, "That's why I am doing this: to expose people to an alien. And I don't want to spoil the encounter for either of us.
The most remarkable thing, however, about wearing a costume is the reactions you get from, ah, normally-dressed people. Adults usually say something sophisticated to their friends, like, "I thought Halloween was over," or the perennial favorite, "I hope it isn't catching." The older of the kids get right to specifics. "Boy is that ugly!" "What a bubblehead." "Hey, look at the lampshade!"
But it's the little kids that give you a clue to the reason for all the negative remarks. Fear. They're all afraid of anyone who's different. Two little kids who spotted me waiting for an elevator gasped and ran back around the corner, peeking out at intervals. Adults feel they can't run, so they strike back verbally. The fight or flight reaction.
Besides the verbal comments on your costume, there are always the stares, ranging from a double-take by the guy you pass in the hall, to, it seems, EVERYONE in the main lobby.
Yes, at times it is uncomfortable, though the feeling diminished when I was walking with friends, even when they were in "normal" dress. At other times, I got a big kick out of the raised eyebrows and the suddenly terminated conversations.
And there are advantages to standing out from the crowd. My room-mates and I made numerous phone calls and main desk appearances the first day of the con, trying to get the hotel to send us the extra bed we needed. Nothing came. However, after the Futuristic Fashion contest, I went to the main desk, still in costume, and complained once more to an astonished desk clerk. During the next hour and a half, three (3) beds were delivered to our room.
I must say that the vast majority of the Humans at the Con were very helpful, though usually at the same time, confused. (Aren't you hot?" "Can you see OK?" "I bet you're hot in that thing." "Do you have your number?" "Are you hot?" "Can you hear me?" "Do you need anything special on stage for your presentation?" "Aren't you . . .)
Yes, I am hot, and increasingly thirsty, and bothered by aches in my head and back from the weight of the costume. I depend on previous nerve-wracking/hot and exhausting experiences I have had during live radio shows/karate class to help me cope with this situation. I wander around, near the door to the contest ballroom, looking for a breeze, subject to fire marshall [sic] edicts. ("I'm sorry, but you can't stand there." "I'm sorry, but you can't stand there, either.") Others express their own concern. "How do you breathe in that thing?" SLOWLY. "Aren't you hot?" A nod from me suffices to answer that one. To coin a phrase, "The air is the air. What can be done? (Anyone for a little Tri-ox?)
Back at home and work, the main reactions I get when people see my convention pictures are: 1) "Is that you?" and 2) "You mean you didn't win anything?" I was surprised at the latter, because I feel as though I did win something. But it is not money, or a trophy, or anything that I can show them.
When there are over 100 contestants and only 5 prizes, entrants must go through it all for more than that. For the fun and excitement? Look at the contestant who has sweated, unmoving, inside a costume for six to eight hours, and that is definately [sic] not the impression you'll get.
Serious costumers, like mountain climbers, do it "because it's there." They want to see, personally, if a certain thing can be done. And they strive to do it, in a way no one has done before, or perhaps closer to the original than anyone has ever done.
The prizes such contestants receive will never get dusty or tarnished sitting on a shelf, because these prizes are part of a dreamer's soul. Their dream has come true, you see. For a time, their alien was alive.
Don't ask them why they did such a thing. Ask yourself why you didn't. And if your answer is, "I Could never think up anything like that," or, "I'm not that crazy," you may well be right.
Dare yourself to dream! It is catching.