I've almost decided what I'm gonna be for Halloween. It has to be simple, because I have to pull it off. Usually choices for a costume range from blue man (wear all blue with blue face paint) to red man to 80s glam rock heroin addict (wear a Faster Pussycat shirt with faint and mostly washed off black and white face paint to portray that nearly dead look). So I can't go all out and become the wolf man or something elaborate like that. It'll just look like I didn't shave for a week, and that's not anything special.
My costume decision was made a little bit easier last night. Some friends and I went to an art opening--sort of. It was one of those art opening/keg/punk band/cocktail/wine/semi-goth thrash band/and cracker parties. And everyone was flying a flag of some kind. Not that people were fronting their flags (it was a very laid back evening except for a short bit of mock slam dancing at the end of the punk band's set), but they surely were flying them.
Our friend (the one who actually got invited to the soirée) told us to dress casual. And then after he said that, he told us to dress nice. Casual to me is cut off sweat pants and whatever old t-shirt is on top of the pile. Casual to everyone else is different.
Casual to the people throwing the party was cocktail dresses (tight, mostly black or dark, and revealing the back). Casual to the punk band was skater shorts and old button down shirts (although the shirt became optional late in the game). Casual to the artist--he specializes in photo collages, which were spectacular and mesmerizing at the same time--was close to the punker garb, but less hair. Casual to the semi-goths was black and white face paint, Rob Zombie/Misfits t-shirts, black pants (leather optional) and clomper boots.
Add to these visions the widespread party crowd, all of which gravitated near one of these camps. There were the older people smirking by the wine and cheese while the punk band played (they were probably the most sensibly-dressed, but a little dressed up for most of the crowd). The frat-ish guys (jeans and untucked button down shirts). And the multi-colored punker kids. These were the funniest of all.
Not that they were freakish, but it's always interesting to see hair in every imaginable shade. Or knotty fake blondes. Or Ernie-style shirts with rainbow stripes running tightly horizontal over large breasts. Or army-style clothes with bright red hair.
I never tried that hard to be part of a tribe, and I was pretty glammy in the late 80s and early 90s. I had long blow dried hair, streaks of blond and ripped jeans. I had about 25 different concert t-shirts ranging from Kix to Ratt to Jane's Addiction. But I never pierced anything (ears were the big thing in my day--for guys that is), and I never figured out a design I liked good enough to get a tattoo. By the time all of these alternative lifestyle piercings and tats became ultra-cool, I didn't really want to be ultra-cool anymore.
We left after the keg was empty (it was a quarter barrel) and the wine was drained. It took about an hour. I got a good buzz (a cup of beer, two different cups of wine), we checked out most of the art (some of the pieces were behind the bands, and thus inaccessible), and took off.
I have a headache this morning. A hangover. I can't blame the party--the worst alcohol intake was after the party. But as I sit in my Chiefs t-shirt and black sweat pants, re-writing my column, I realize we're all wearing our costumes most of the time. Not to intimidate or stand out, but to distinguish ourselves from everyone else. To be those characters called whatever people call us from day to day.
I forgot to say what I wore to the party. Black work boots, almost white Dockers and a blue and red (purple at times) button down shirt--untucked. I was semi-hipster Matt last night.
Who are you gonna be today?
Matt Worley recommends not drinking wine out of the same cup one drinks beer from.