Last night I was lucky enough to get invited to a costume party at a friend of a friend of a friend's apartment. I didn't really have a costume, so I shaved most of my week-old stubble, leaving behind a red, horseshoe-shaped Hulk Hogan style goatee and flavor saver – which I think might become a Fu Manchu with a little cultivation – to go with my already unkempt sideburns. I threw on a grey wool zig-zag-patterned Mexican-style tunic, a bright white cowboy hat, a pair of khakis, and I was ready to go. I still didn't have a costume, but at least I looked like a dumbass.
Around seven o’clock my Norwegian roommate and I headed out, ate some dinner, bought several 40-ounce bottles of Mexican beer, and rolled to a different apartment to pregame. The group waiting for us there consisted of one American, one Mexican, one German, and five Norwegians, all but two of whom had put together a costume of some sort. We sat around the kitchen counter for a few hours, drinking the beer, listening to music, and trying to determine the best adhesive for six-foot-six inch Burt Reynolds’ fake mustache (scotch tape was eventually selected, but it came off every time he smiled). Once our collective blood-alcohol had climbed sufficiently, we decided to make the 20-minute trek to the real party.
Off we went, strutting through downtown Guanajuato under the full moon, eating up all the shouts and horn honks sent our way by shocked and amused Guanajuatensis. Among the nine of us were two trolls, their hair dyed green and styled to stick straight up in a wavy, fluffy, flame-like ordeal; one cat; one Aristotles, wrapped in a golden sheet, laurel crown fashioned from pieces of a Christmas wreath; one Spanish missionary, long beige poncho draped over his shoulders, a crucifix dangling from his neck; one oddly-dressed white boy (me); and, of course, a giant Burt Reynolds, popping his collar and winking or pointing two parallel index fingers at each gawking passerby.
The walk was really surreal. I kept thinking of certain scenes from "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas," when Johnny Depp's character (Hunter Thompson) walks through public places on all kinds of drugs, constantly convinced that people are watching him as he stares back at them with wide, wild eyes, careening dangerously through large crowds. The difference is that we were largely in control, but people really were staring at us with their jaws hanging slack. I got the sense that if we had been on acid, or mescaline, or whatever other crazy hallucinogens Thompson ingested in that story, we might have dreamed ourselves up and been really terrified - for good reason, mind you. Instead, we were the hallucination, and every innocent, sober convenience store patron, pedestrian, and bus passenger got to trip out for a couple minutes, whether they wanted to or not.
Truth be told, we felt sort of untouchable, like partiers cruising through town on a parade float, separated from the masses by a layer of absurdity.
* * *
I’m not sure what it is about dressing strangely that changes the way people act, but parties with alcohol and costumes always have a distinctly different feel from normal gatherings. It could be that I’m just a little bit insecure when I wear regular, this-is-who-I-am clothing, and that costumes allow me to feel like the things I do aren’t really of consequence. I don’t act completely crazy, but I get the sense that I’m more comfortable being outgoing and that I’m more creative when it comes to striking up conversations. I don’t think I’m alone on this, either. I bet lots of people feel a little more open, more free, and more relaxed when they throw on a stupid costume (as long as everyone else looks stupid, too). Costumes serve as sort of an equalizer for people who otherwise feel uncool, unattractive, or just generally awkward in social situations, and they were working their magic last night at the party. Everyone, as far as I could tell, was having a fantastic time, and we didn’t stop partying until well after five AM.
So here’s my suggestion: let’s make costumes a more regular part of normal life. Let’s do what we can to make truly outrageous, disarming, asshole-ish clothing more accepted. You wanna go to work as Batman today? Go right ahead! UPS man, you wanna deliver packages in drag? Just make sure the packages get there on time. Going shopping today? Throw on a dress, paint your face teal, hike up some striped socks, spike your hair, lace up your basketball shoes, and hit the town!
I could be mistaken, but I don’t see insecurities going away any time soon. With that in mind, let's advocate more lunacy and fun ... even if it just means more costume parties.
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