Daily Archives: August 6, 2002

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I’ve been trying to figure out why I enjoy making and wearing costumes so much.

I love dressing up. I know it partially comes from a love of things unordinary. I think it also partially originates from my preference of skirts to pants; most of my costumes are dress-based, after all.

The challenge of creating something is part of it, too. One of my triumphs was finding a classic Trek sourcebook with sketches of uniforms, tracing the six-inch-high picture, enlarging it via the grid method, and making a remarkably authentic bright red classic Trek woman’s uniform. (That, I got to wear twice – once at my Hallowe’en party, once a following Hallowe’en at the F/SF bookstore I worked in. Complete with high black boots.) I love putting costumes together because, let’s face it, part of showing up in costume is to feel proud of what you’ve done, to hear other people say, “That’s so cool!”, and with the proper finishing touches, it’s all just so satisfying.

I also enjoy sewing. I’m not patient enough to be perfect, so sewing everyday clothes isn’t really an option. However, sewing a costume means you can get away with little mistakes and shortcuts most of the time.

I don’t think it originates with a desire to be someone else. I like being me, thank you very much. I just particularly enjoy being me in nifty clothes. However, perhaps it has something to do with special occasions. You wouldn’t wear a costume every day; dressing up carries with it an implication of holiday and festivity.

Eh. Whatever. I like costuming. I should just enjoy it, and not question it.

The Little Things Count

So I spent yesterday with Ceri, and all day something was lurking in the back of my mind, and it had something to do with Ceri herself (indirectly), and Saturday night when I went to a ritual.

It nibbled, and nibbled, and every time I tried to look at it it would vanish into the shadowy depths of my subconscious again. All Sunday it lurked and gnawed. Something like this is like having a mosquito in the room with you: you can hear it, and you know it’s there, but you’ll never see it, and it just gets more and more irritating.

When I go to ritual I usually wear a hand-made anklet of amber and onyx. I rarely wear it for any other reason, and if I do, I have to be feeling really special. As I did up the clasp on Saturday night I thought about wearing it more often, but I’m always afraid it will break. This casual observation must have been what started that lurky thought that hung around for a day or so. Ceri and I looked at a lot of fabric and trims yesterday, and Ceri mentioned making her wedding dress. The niggling feeling that I was forgetting something floated closer to the surface, but still didn’t make it all the way to conscious thought. It wasn’t until I was in a bath last night that I finally, triumphantly, dragged that thought out into the light, kicking and screaming.

I bought another anklet in Halifax last September the day of Ceri’s wedding, so I could wear an anklet all the time.

There.

When I emerged from the bath I hunted through my jewelry box until I found it, underneath some stone necklaces. Out of sight, out of mind. Figures.

I shouldn’t feel this smug and content about remembering a delicate silver anklet. Really.