Everyday Costumes

A couple of days ago, Miss Peach went to school wearing a greenish aqua tee-shirt with a hand signing, "I love you" on the front, an orange hoodie, cropped skinny jeans cuffed just below the knee and Ugg boots.  Then, because it was only about 40 degrees outside, she put on a bright green Calorimetry (remember when everyone went nuts for those?) and a self-striping mobius infinity scarf that I knit up ages ago wrapped around her neck 3 times until it looked like a bulky cowl.  She looked like a very colorful November, except for the 3 to 4 inches of bare calf hanging out between her jean cuffs and her boot tops, which looked like a tentatively hopeful April.  I let her go without saying a word.  For one, it was not quite 7:00 am and I hadn't had any coffee yet.  For two, I remember the challenge of trying to dress myself when I was in 7th grade, and she seems to have a much better handle on what is acceptable amongst her peers than I ever did.

"Does she have bangs that go all the way around her head?"

Most of my life, up until around 6th grade, I really didn't get a choice as to what I looked like or what I wore.  My hair was kept cut in a Dorothy Hamill style wedge (you know, kinda like Kristen Wiig's Saturday Night Live character, Target Lady?) It fell to between the nape of my neck and my collar, and left me resembling a slightly obscene mushroom.  We didn't have a lot of extra income during my parents divorce, so trendy clothing was completely out of reach.  My grandmother Hattie, bless her soul, was a talented seamstress and most truly in her element when bargain hunting, so most of my clothes were either handmade from vintage Simplicity patterns or came from the Salvation Army.  I was in 5th grade in '89, and while all the other girls were wearing crop tops and scrunchies, Keds, slouch socks, and rolling their pants into peg legs, I was wearing dresses with puffed sleeves and wide sashes, culottes, and high waist bell bottom jeans with a seam that ran up the back of both legs and across the butt.  I hated those jeans with a passion.

Just like mine, except I had the classic yellow stitching.  And I didn't have the groovy shoes, hat or blouse, either.  Boo.

I wandered around the house with sweaters tied around my waist and lamented that I had no tunic tops that would cover the offending seam- only to be scolded for being overly dramatic and ruining my sweater sleeves.  Then I was reminded the way a proper young lady wears a sweater without actually wearing it was draped across my shoulders like a shawl and loosely tied around my neck, and that those terrible, awful, wretched jeans had once been very snazzy and I should feel lucky that Grandma had gotten them so cheaply.

Once I finally gained control of my wardrobe, however, I had no idea how to handle it.  I crafted what I had into what I thought looked like what the others girls wore, but I missed the mark most nearly all of the time.  I remember once in 8th grade, I made a beautiful hoop earring out of ladder stitched deep teal bugle beads and gold seed beads with a small hand wrapped crystal hanging in the center.  But I only made one; homework prevented me from finishing the pair.  It was so pretty, though, and so cool that I decided to wear it anyway.  To hide the fact that I only had one earring, I pulled my hair around and tied it in a low, loose ponytail on the opposite side of my head and hoped that everyone would think that the other one was simply underneath all my hair.  Of course I was discovered; and as soon as the teasing set in, I took it off.  I hid it in my backpack for the rest of the day, where it got caught under my math book and broke.  But, I had discovered that I had a talent, so I turned my tale of woe into a tale of, "Whoa!"  I started making all my own jewelry.  Sewing was definitely a 'thing' that the women in my family did, so after a few lessons from Hattie and my great-grandmother, Blanche, I started re-fashioning my clothes... shirts into dresses, dresses into skirts, skirts could be worn high or low, or my under my armpits and belted at the waist to make a top.  My jeans were either covered in bright murals of hand stitched embroidery or artfully frayed around holes I cut and worn under floaty little bohemian style baby doll dresses.  I learned to embrace the fact that I was never going to blend in, and to have fun creating my daily costumes.

Speaking of costumes,  Tuesday night I headed down to the Riverwalk Theatre for the first read-thru of the musical, White Christmas.  I had volunteered to be part of the costume crew, and we were supposed to be taking measurements and photos of the cast prior to rehearsal.  That backstage has changed so much since I left it nearly 20 years ago that I almost got lost.  What used to be an empty warehouse space that simultaneously served as a green room, dressing room, makeup area, costume storage and set building workshop, has now been divided up into a half a dozen different rooms including a dedicated rehearsal space so that two to three shows can be worked at the same time.

  Once I found my was through and introduced myself to the director and assistant director (who both seem to be lovely women), I followed the costume director back to the green room, where we then set up shop.  The costume director is an interesting woman, a large, talkative personality who goes by Momma K and tells the men that she's measuring them for their noose when she wraps her measuring tape around their collar.  Everyone in the cast seemed to know everyone else, and with all the talking, laughing and reminiscing going on around me, I felt a bit like I was at a party I was invited to as an afterthought, or that I could help serve drinks.  I'm sure I will feel more comfortable as I get to know them, though.  First meetings can often be awkward.  I think this one was especially so, as I am so new to this generation of community theater players that there aren't even any rumors about me to let them know what to expect.  At least I had the benefit of looking a few of them online and reading their resumes, though that had it's downside, too.  I had assumed (Ha!  You know what the say about assuming...) I'd be working with people I can learn something from, seeing that they had all this wonderful experience.  Imagine my surprise, then, when I found that in a room of 5 or 6 long time costumers, I was the only one who can put in a zipper!  Oh, well.  At least it will be a good experience.

See you next time!
Love, Stephie





Plans for the kitchen: cleaning out the fridge.  Ugh.
Plans for the needles: mittens, Mrs. Whatsit, and spinning my butt off.
On the nightstand: When You are Engulfed in Flames by David Sedaris
On the boobtube: Revolution (Yay! New season!) via the intermittent power of Hulu