The Fancy Dress

There is nothing better than receiving an invitation to a costume party.

You can be whoever you want to be for an entire evening. A superhero, a rockstar, a popstar… even Amy Winehouse if that’s your thing. I wish I could dress up everyday, which is why I just cannot understand why people are so impartial to a little dressing up!

You’d have thought it required more effort than the weekly rigorous trawl through Topshop Oxford Circus on a Saturday afternoon or something, when in actual fact, you can probably find an outfit for a costume party in your very own “I never wear this. Ever. But you never know” cupboard. It’s cheap and promotes recycling. It also allows you to have fun and play around with your identity and when submerged in work, exams, essay deadlines and these tiresome winter months, why not add a little frivolous sparkle into your life?

Due to this strange adoration for fancy dress, I was so excited when mum decided to celebrate her 50th birthday this month with a huge fancy dress party! I opted for Jessica Rabbit. It was a little bit of a ‘She-thinks-She-could-look-like-her-but-She-really-can’t’ costume, but I still loved it nonethless.

The key is for everyone to go for it. When they do, the sights are mind boggling. You get Shrek snogging the face off Princess Leia, Cleopatra dancing to some sort of Grease megamix with Madonna and if you’re lucky you might even get to see Jasmin and Aladdin having a barney in the corner. The photos are cracking too. People start to take on the personality of their characters. Shy party-goers start to pout like Katie Price and your boss always lets out their inner wild child. One family friend dressed up as Gomez Addams and even took it upon himself to break the law for his costume and smoke cigars all night. Inside. Epic.

I’ve always loved fancy dress. When I was 18 I went to a ‘Smash And Grab’ night at Punk in Tottenham Court Road where a fancy dress booth is provided for your own amusement. Instead of heading to the bar, I strode over to the booth and kitted myself out in a leotard, spotty pants and a huge pink bow in my hair. I totally don’t have the thighs for such attire but I have to admit; it felt amazing. It meant that people would approach you because you look hilarious and you can act however you like because, well,  its not really you is it?

All in all, I have to agree with Blanche, “I don’t want realism. I want magic! Yes, yes, magic. I try to give that to people. I do misrepresent things. I don’t tell truths. I tell what ought to be truth.” (Blanche Dubois, A Streetcar Named Desire) and I should urge you to do the same. Go and dress up as someone new. You wouldn’t wear the same shirt or skirt everyday because it would get boring, so why restrict yourself to the same body everyday? You never know, when you finally clamber back into your own skin, life might seem that little bit more exciting knowing that actually, you can literally be who you want to be…