Superheroes

One of the most enjoyable parts of going out is, for me, the process of getting ready, the preparation for the night ahead. It starts with the long luxurious shower with exfoliation and some improbably named shower gel, shaving my legs with long swooping strokes, then rubbing in a gorgeous smelling body butter and painting my toe nails a cheeky shade of red, taking a swig of wine in between each toe. Drying and straightening my hair, patting on my Lancome foundation, and applying my 'clubbing make up' with smoky eye shadow in each eye socket and a thick application of mascara. Next, surveying my wardrobe and carefully laying out an outfit on the bed, adding a selection of jewellery. Then, after dressing and finishing my make up, a spritz or two of perfume and finally putting on a pair of sexy heels...even better if I have a friend or two to share the process with...unless I'm having an army boots situation (see previous post)

I want to look attractive when I go out and I'll happily spend a good couple of hours trying to achieve that. I suppose this excessive preparation is a reaction to rushed week day mornings when I get up ridiculously early and rough dry my hair upside down, applying a quck coat of mascara whilst gulping down scalding porridge. I love the fact that on a Saturday night, |I'm barely recognizable as the girl who woke up that morning with greasy hair, stubbly eyebrows, spots and a fetching quint as she peered through her milk bottle bottom glasses.

In a recent conversation with the hot guy I currently fancy ( I mean the guy I'm currently Facebook stalking) we started discussing the differences between girls and boys and why girls take so long to get ready. I went through the process step by step and he couldn't believe the level of commitment and organization that it took. Military operations have taken less time to plan and execute.

Why, therefore, would I want to go to a fancy dress party wearing something that makes me look silly? Or worse still, ugly?

Maybe I lack a sense of humour when it comes to appearance – I have been told that I take myself too seriously. And it's a shame that I don't like dressing up as I am one of only two people who hold the keys to the costume cupboard at school. Being a drama teacher, I should enjoy that process of becoming another person. But if I'm not actually taking part in a play or playing a character then it doesn't interest me.

I recently went to a party where one had to go as either a superhero or a school girl. I went as myself. In a pair of new, tight jeans, huge heels and a very low cut top. To be fair to me, I didn't know it was a fancy dress party til that afternoon but I was really glad that I hadn't known before, as I had a valid excuse for not dressing up. Granted, the outfits that night did provide an endless stream of conversation. Maybe that's why people have fancy dress parties – so their guests will always have something to talk about?

In the hosts' living room, a bizarre scene unfolded. A six foot (and very hairy) guy who was wearing a school girl outfit with an enormous pair of fake tits posed for photos with his friends as they pretended to fondle him. It was moderately funny, in the way that it always is when big gruff men wear girls' clothes. Across the room, a man in a Batman outfit swigged from a pint glass of red wine before attempting to 'fly' off the sofa. In another corner, a drunk girl who was, for some reason, wearing Lederhosen and an Australian Bushwhacker hat complete with corks demolished the contents of the buffet table. For a moment, it was as if I'd stepped back out of myself and looked at the scene for what it really was – a group of people trying to escape the tedium of everyday life by a creating a pointless if vaguely amusing diversion. I then realised that if one starts thinking like that, it's a slippery slope to pondering the meaning of life and whether any kind of social activity has a point to it. However whilst philosophizing to myself I realised something, which is....

I suppose that one could say that the kind of outfit I usually wear on a Saturday night is the most elaborate disguise ever - almost like a mask. It's my crutch, my confidence and without that smoky eyeshadow or that bright red lipstick or that spritz of Narcisso Rodriguez, I would feel naked. Therefore, why should I judge others who wish to dress up? Aren't we all, to some extent, playing a character every day? I'm playing fun, single girl about town who is confident and secure. Never mind that the actual reality is very different.  I actually heard the host of the party say to another guest that the guy dressed as Batman was normally very shy. However, with his polyester padded superhero outfit on, he also seemed masterful and dynamic, chatting easily to a ring of girls who were all taking it in turns to feel his (false) biceps.

Anyway, I've been invited to a Hallowee'n party tomorrow night and as it's being thrown by a close friend and I've known about it for ages, I've really got to go in costume. So I've been to the costume cupboard at school and found a Victorian style white wedding dress. I'll put my hair in a bun and make a veil out of some white netting and I'll be Miss Havisham out of 'Great Expectations'. The outfit makes me look dramatic and slightly tragic, like something out of a period drama. That I can cope with. I have actually practised speaking in old fashioned language and tried out 'Oh. Mr Darcy' in front of the mirror a few times (wrong period I know but I couldn't think of another phrase). If I'm going in costume, I figured, I might as well do it properly.

Who knows, I might meet a hot vampire......