Dressing Down
So I had a wonderfully offensive costume for the Masquerade at Laga last night.
It pegged the shock meter. It was like a punch in the gut, dredging up all kinds of slimy things from the American subconscious. And it had a sincere message.
Oh, and it was cheap, too.
I had it all assembled. I was dripping some finishing touches of fake blood on myself in front of the mirror. And I realized it didn’t work.
It wasn’t really all that shocking, just tasteless. The message could’ve been very easily misinterpreted, allowing someone to dismiss the messenger as just another asshole. And my makeup skills suck.
That’s a horrible feeling. But sometimes you put a ton of effort into something, and realize that it just won’t work. I tried to tell myself that I was just being a wimp, too scared to go through with something that would piss off a lot of people. I carefully considered the possibility that I was being overcautious (heh).
In the end, I scrubbed off the makeup, took off the outfit and just threw on a bunch of leather. I decided that what I wanted to express was important to me, too important to fuck it up by daring myself into wearing a crap costume. I’m going to take another stab at the design for the Halloween parties tonight — wish me luck.
Masquerade last night was pretty good. The bands were crap, but people went all out on the costume front — from metal angels to Patriot Acts. Mickey and Ray earned my undying love as the Boondock Saints. Afterwards, I had a nice long drink and chat with Mikey and Rachel downstairs at the Upstage 80s night.