
As a New Yorker, specifically a Manhattan-dwelling, fashion industry drone in a cosmopolitan setting, the color black figures prominently in my wardrobe. Outside of my island of residence, this is not a typical dress philosophy. As a result, I have been labeled “Goth” on numerous occasions. I dismiss it as ridiculous until longtime friends and family insist that I have always been one.
Baffled, I tried to examine what could probably have caused them to come to this inaccurate conclusion. After hours of self-reflection I determined that the fault (consistent with all types of psychological studies) lay with my parents.
The first Halloween that I remember celebrating, I was three years old. My father, in an afternoon of creative inspiration made the decision to make my first costume. I watched him with fascination, not knowing what he would make. I was in awe of his craft as he duct-taped a construction paper cone to my head.
He created a witch’s cloak out of stereo speaker fabric with a hole cut out for my face. I wore it all without understanding what a witch actually was. As my parents normally did not permit me to have candy, the concept of strangers handing me sweets and being allowed to keep them was monumental.
By the time I yelled “Trick or Treat” to the second house we visited, I was emotionally overwhelmed by the events and ended the night. My father was quite disappointed. He had waited three years for an excuse to have neighbors reciprocate free treats, and had expected to return with a bigger haul.
The next day, I got over the initial shock of free candy as a concept, and was properly motivated to collect bonbons again. I understood the ‘witch’ outfit was key. I was confused and saddened when my father informed me that we would not be going back out that night. I didn’t understand why. Undaunted, I continued to wear a hag’s attire every day in the hopes that today would be the day the quest would continue. I thought the costume was a candy-collecting uniform. I wore my pointed hat each afternoon and played “trick or treat” alone with my teddy bear. I travelled from couch to couch, panhandling to stuffed animals for lollipops. Alas, this was probably the reason why neighbors thought I was an infant priestess of the occult…
At five years old, my parents decided expand my cultural education and take me to the opera. They selected Hansel and Gretel as the most child appropriate production. The story depicted the abandoned and starving children of a broken marriage trying to find their way home. The showstopper was when the siblings were tricked into a scheme of cannibalistic intent by a sorceress with a confection-fortified house. The decision to choose this particular piece to introduce a child to the performing arts was obvious.
After the opera ended, I was brought backstage to meet the sorceress, legendary Canadian opera contralto Maureen Forrester. She was a vision in black velvet, violet lace and satin. She was covered in elaborate bijoux, her nails and eyelashes sparkled with glitter. After a lifetime in the suburbs wearing my male cousin’s hand-me-downs, this woman in costume was the most glamorous person I had ever seen. The fashion icon forever made an impression in my head.
I suppose my parents were lucky that I associated her style with being a ‘witch’. At least it saved them from having to watch their daughter grow up to be a failed drag queen.
October 31, 2009
Categories: Uncategorized . Tags: gothic fashion, halloween . Author: wengmengny . Comments: Leave a Comment