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on love, scholarship, and costume
Unless we know each other very well, if you've met me, you've probably met me in costume. Considering that costume is one of the technologies through which I like both to interact with and to examine the world, this isn't really surprising. If you've seen me playing independent academic (hey, someone send me a pic from a panel, yeah?), businesswoman, retrogirl, genderqueer writer, Regency dancer or actress, you've seen me in costume. But for a lot of you, if we're talking about my relationship with costume we're talking about cosplay.
Despite the fact that I talk about cosplay on con panels a lot, it's only adjacent to, as opposed to central to the fanthropology stuff I do. And, despite my love of costume, I've only ever cosplayed two characters: Severus Snape and Jack Harkness (OMG, how can I have so many random pictures of me and can't find a single picture of this cosplay that I feel like linking right now? Anyway, men's clothes, big coat, you know the drill).
Cosplay is, perhaps, the element of fan-behavior most poorly received by those outside of fandom communities, and perhaps even by some of those inside many fan communities (this is, as is quite rightly noted in comments, more a function of Western fandom culture and Western fandom properties than Eastern ones). It is, after all, fairly easy to go, "oh, you know, those people and their Starfleet uniforms" and never think about what those people and their Starfleet uniforms are on about.
There are a lot of things that make people uncomfortable about cosplay. One of the primary issues is that it is play, something that in the West we've been told very specifically is not the domain of adult status (a status that is increasingly difficult to prove by any means other than by what one is not). Another issue, that's closely related to play, is that it's often deeply earnest. But cosplay is also a mode of criticism -- of source materials and their representations (a TV show is just a representation of the work of a writer for starts) certainly, but of also of things, including society, fandom and the self.
Perhaps most troubling for people outside of the world of cosplay is the inability to look at a costume and know what it is: is it play? or is it criticism? does the person doing the cosplay intend it as criticism? and how necessary and/or appropriate is it for us to judge someone else's act of play? Cosplay freaks a lot of people out because it's incredibly hard to divine from the outside what the hell any particular instance of it is about.
While it's no secret that I'm a cosplayer, I often feel it's supposed to be. As someone who is as a guest at some cons and a fan at others, I get a lot of lectures about how it's not done for pros to wear costumes (I certainly don't wear them when I'm working a con as a guest; I certainly do wear them when I'm being a fan, and the notion that it's not appropriate at events where I am not and have never been a guest and am there solely to hang out and have a good time galls me).
The severity of that attitude differs between fandoms and media (I hear it, for example, more often from static media folks (novelists, comics) than from folks who work with the moving image), I've noticed, and it's particularly awkward for someone like me who's become a pro by, through, and about my fannish activities. But the discomfort of others tends to trump frank discussions of cosplay, especially when that cosplay is about things -- like love and criticism -- other than just play.
And the fact is, that no matter what anyone tells you, we don't all put on our pants quite the same way. One leg at a time, sure. But the mood of dressing and undressing, of constructing an identity, varies from person to person and identity to identity.
I find tending to my menswear very calming, and, sometimes, sorrowful -- it is lonely packing myself away in one fashion when I dress, and in another when I undress. I find feminine business wear makes me feel efficient, and 1940's dresses make me want to go shopping using only paper sacks. I find putting on the costume I wore for Snape makes me want to have a lot more physical distance from people than I normally do, and that when I cosplay Jack Harkness, the costume feels truest to me when I'm half dressed and my braces are still hanging around my hips. And all these things tell me something: about the properties and characters I study, about the world I study in, and about myself.
There is little doubt that I engage texts as the "enchanted" believer that I posited in "A Tangible Reality of Absence" (not online yet; sorry, my bad in the self-referencing department, although you can hear me talk about this at Dragon*Con this year), and in doing so I am not just experiencing a passionate relationship with text, but with myself in a reality I've consciously chosen for the duration of an act of play, as opposed to one foisted upon me, or one I only pretend to believe in (i.e, the "ironic" believer).
Snape was never a costume of some Other I longed to be, but a representation of the power I believe my personal uglinesses (an unconventional face, a deviant gender, a difficult manner, an inconvenient intellect) have given me. The Harkness costume has certainly never been about the man I wish I could be, but the one I fear I am: gregarious and yet terribly alone; preoccupied with the past; and unable, too often, to appreciate the affection around, and directed, at me.
Of course, it's highly likely that such an explanation of costume and cosplay serves, not to make anyone reading this more comfortable with the idea, but less. After all, I talk often enough about how we all secretly fear we are -- or everyone else on the Internet is -- one of Snape's Wives.
Today Henry Jenkins tweeted regarding this discussion of the acafen perspective, which in passing addresses notions of costume and generally argues against the acafen perspective, essentially saying that love is a blindness.
And yet, it is only the people who know me best, who care the most for me, that have seen me without costume. It is these people who unavoidably know my flaws, and who seek to understand why I have them and how they hurt the person I am both in private and in many different publics.
The idea that love is an obstacle to critical thinking and rigorous scholarship, especially in Fan Studies, and pop-culture related fields, is one that, while I can certainly process the arguments for, ultimately make no organic sense to me. In love, we know the details; get the layers; we peel off the skin.
Love makes me a better scholar and a more persistent one. It is the ever so risky sin of sentimentality that opens more windows of thought for me than any other, and perhaps, even more importantly, is the angle through which I'm able to cultivate a receptiveness to those ideas. It's surely not a style of scholarship that suits everyone as a producer or a consumer, and I am not advocating a conversion of others to the style of it so much as I am advocating a push-back against the shame culture that says love is dangerous because it obscures ideas, when I have always known that love is dangerous because it breeds them.
I wear costumes and am many men who never were. I am also scholar and a fan and a woman and a self-critical blogger and a total geek. And not only do I have absolutely no idea why all those things supposedly aren't compatible, I also know that I can read all the theory in the world and still come to only one conclusion about my existence in this regard: I am as true as any fiction.
Which is to say, yet again (and for surely not the last time): Stories Matter.
And so does how we feel about them.
Stories don't matter less because they never happened. They don't contain less meaning because we love them. And they don't go away or sit in the corner or become less noticeable because we shame them.
Despite the fact that I talk about cosplay on con panels a lot, it's only adjacent to, as opposed to central to the fanthropology stuff I do. And, despite my love of costume, I've only ever cosplayed two characters: Severus Snape and Jack Harkness (OMG, how can I have so many random pictures of me and can't find a single picture of this cosplay that I feel like linking right now? Anyway, men's clothes, big coat, you know the drill).
Cosplay is, perhaps, the element of fan-behavior most poorly received by those outside of fandom communities, and perhaps even by some of those inside many fan communities (this is, as is quite rightly noted in comments, more a function of Western fandom culture and Western fandom properties than Eastern ones). It is, after all, fairly easy to go, "oh, you know, those people and their Starfleet uniforms" and never think about what those people and their Starfleet uniforms are on about.
There are a lot of things that make people uncomfortable about cosplay. One of the primary issues is that it is play, something that in the West we've been told very specifically is not the domain of adult status (a status that is increasingly difficult to prove by any means other than by what one is not). Another issue, that's closely related to play, is that it's often deeply earnest. But cosplay is also a mode of criticism -- of source materials and their representations (a TV show is just a representation of the work of a writer for starts) certainly, but of also of things, including society, fandom and the self.
Perhaps most troubling for people outside of the world of cosplay is the inability to look at a costume and know what it is: is it play? or is it criticism? does the person doing the cosplay intend it as criticism? and how necessary and/or appropriate is it for us to judge someone else's act of play? Cosplay freaks a lot of people out because it's incredibly hard to divine from the outside what the hell any particular instance of it is about.
While it's no secret that I'm a cosplayer, I often feel it's supposed to be. As someone who is as a guest at some cons and a fan at others, I get a lot of lectures about how it's not done for pros to wear costumes (I certainly don't wear them when I'm working a con as a guest; I certainly do wear them when I'm being a fan, and the notion that it's not appropriate at events where I am not and have never been a guest and am there solely to hang out and have a good time galls me).
The severity of that attitude differs between fandoms and media (I hear it, for example, more often from static media folks (novelists, comics) than from folks who work with the moving image), I've noticed, and it's particularly awkward for someone like me who's become a pro by, through, and about my fannish activities. But the discomfort of others tends to trump frank discussions of cosplay, especially when that cosplay is about things -- like love and criticism -- other than just play.
And the fact is, that no matter what anyone tells you, we don't all put on our pants quite the same way. One leg at a time, sure. But the mood of dressing and undressing, of constructing an identity, varies from person to person and identity to identity.
I find tending to my menswear very calming, and, sometimes, sorrowful -- it is lonely packing myself away in one fashion when I dress, and in another when I undress. I find feminine business wear makes me feel efficient, and 1940's dresses make me want to go shopping using only paper sacks. I find putting on the costume I wore for Snape makes me want to have a lot more physical distance from people than I normally do, and that when I cosplay Jack Harkness, the costume feels truest to me when I'm half dressed and my braces are still hanging around my hips. And all these things tell me something: about the properties and characters I study, about the world I study in, and about myself.
There is little doubt that I engage texts as the "enchanted" believer that I posited in "A Tangible Reality of Absence" (not online yet; sorry, my bad in the self-referencing department, although you can hear me talk about this at Dragon*Con this year), and in doing so I am not just experiencing a passionate relationship with text, but with myself in a reality I've consciously chosen for the duration of an act of play, as opposed to one foisted upon me, or one I only pretend to believe in (i.e, the "ironic" believer).
Snape was never a costume of some Other I longed to be, but a representation of the power I believe my personal uglinesses (an unconventional face, a deviant gender, a difficult manner, an inconvenient intellect) have given me. The Harkness costume has certainly never been about the man I wish I could be, but the one I fear I am: gregarious and yet terribly alone; preoccupied with the past; and unable, too often, to appreciate the affection around, and directed, at me.
Of course, it's highly likely that such an explanation of costume and cosplay serves, not to make anyone reading this more comfortable with the idea, but less. After all, I talk often enough about how we all secretly fear we are -- or everyone else on the Internet is -- one of Snape's Wives.
Today Henry Jenkins tweeted regarding this discussion of the acafen perspective, which in passing addresses notions of costume and generally argues against the acafen perspective, essentially saying that love is a blindness.
And yet, it is only the people who know me best, who care the most for me, that have seen me without costume. It is these people who unavoidably know my flaws, and who seek to understand why I have them and how they hurt the person I am both in private and in many different publics.
The idea that love is an obstacle to critical thinking and rigorous scholarship, especially in Fan Studies, and pop-culture related fields, is one that, while I can certainly process the arguments for, ultimately make no organic sense to me. In love, we know the details; get the layers; we peel off the skin.
Love makes me a better scholar and a more persistent one. It is the ever so risky sin of sentimentality that opens more windows of thought for me than any other, and perhaps, even more importantly, is the angle through which I'm able to cultivate a receptiveness to those ideas. It's surely not a style of scholarship that suits everyone as a producer or a consumer, and I am not advocating a conversion of others to the style of it so much as I am advocating a push-back against the shame culture that says love is dangerous because it obscures ideas, when I have always known that love is dangerous because it breeds them.
I wear costumes and am many men who never were. I am also scholar and a fan and a woman and a self-critical blogger and a total geek. And not only do I have absolutely no idea why all those things supposedly aren't compatible, I also know that I can read all the theory in the world and still come to only one conclusion about my existence in this regard: I am as true as any fiction.
Which is to say, yet again (and for surely not the last time): Stories Matter.
And so does how we feel about them.
Stories don't matter less because they never happened. They don't contain less meaning because we love them. And they don't go away or sit in the corner or become less noticeable because we shame them.
no subject
There's also a bit of giving the finger to society when I look at my non-costumes and see that they are generally a couple of steps away from what society tells us a white, upper middle class, suburban, 41 year old, married moms with a professional career ought to wear.
Since I am a maker, a good part of the thrill of the outfit, is the creation. It's taking the disparate bits of yarn, beads, fabric, and thread and turning it into something amazing. Something that moves the way I envisioned it, that gives me the sillouette that I wanted, and evokes the paintings, books, movies, or show it was based on.
Another part is when I've nailed the look I'm going for. My current favorites are my most recent bellydance outfit (the black and red tribal), my 2nd season Drusilla, and my Edwardian walking dress. When I put them on, I look exactly as I want to and feel as though I have free reign to act as one would wearing those outfits. I can be mercurial, crazy Dru and blither about cherubim singing to me, or be an aloof, unattainable but thoroughly desirable dancer, or the beautiful star of pick your famous Impressionist or pre-Raphaelite painting.
It also gives me a valid reason to practice certain highly disdained activities, whether it's sewing (I'm amazed at how many people think homemade clothes and think of it as being low quality; I've always seen the stuff I've made and my grandmother made as being way better, for numerous reasons) or the arts of arranging hair and putting on make-up.
I don't feel like I'm wasting time when I spend over an hour doing my hair for Drusilla or a dance performance, it's part of the look. If I spend more than five minutes on my hair at another time, I feel guilty because I could be doing something less frivolous. (There are days I freaking hate the patriarchy!)
I always enjoy your musings on costume and looking forward to seeing you at Dragon*Con, where I hope to debut my Capt. John outfit. I really hope to have time to put together the hussar's jacket after Pennsic.
no subject
Oh, yes... I've run into that attitude. For the local church carnival, some of us discussed maybe having a workshop (like they used to when I was a kid) and making stuffed toys and doll dresses as prizes for the kids. But most folks seemed to think that no one wants handmade stuffed toys and the idea was voted down. Ergh.
Or they think you're crazy for making your own stuff. Like buying is the only option, you're not supposed to want to create it.
I like to make my own jewelry. If I could use a sewing machine, I'd make my own clothes too. My mom used to sew a lot of our clothes when we were young, so I've see the quality that comes from the handmade stuff. I have seen sloppy seams on stuff at the store, or no seams on ruffle edges.
And I so want to see a picture of what you made without a pattern! I've heard that 50 years ago some home sewers were good enough to never need patterns but I've never known anyone who could sew without one. That said, in college I did know some girls who could make their own patterns.
no subject
It's as if people forget that there are actual people sewing up those garments they buy in the shops. Those seams are finished (often poorly) and the people making them don't care how well it fits or hangs or how well it's sewn so the garment lasts a long time. I do.
I make my own patterns through a combination of drafting (using measurements and various formulae (the only useful bit of geometry I ever found! ;-p)) and draping (hanging fabric off a dress form or person and cutting the pattern out of waste fabric). Sometimes, for simple things out of fabric like cotton gauze the measurements go straight on the fabric.
Anyways, photos of the things I've made from either measurements or patterns I created:
Hope this isn't overwhelming; I love showing off my portfolio! ;-p
Not to mention things I don't have digital photos of the numerous Turkish coats, t-tunics, Viking aprons, bodices, simple skirts, Turkish socks, and my sister's wedding dress I've made.
Between my grandmother and the costume classes I took in college (where I learned to draft and drape patterns) I learned how to pretty much make whatever I wanted to wear. And since I'm weird for modern clothes (short and buxom), I've been sewing for myself and my family since I was a young teenager. The best part is that I get exactly what I want and it fits.
no subject
You should tell your relatives to check out a professional tailor, if they want to know what a fitted outfit really costs.
The one advantage to the cheaply made clothes at the mall is that people can usually afford newer clothes when needed. Back when everything was made by hand, clothes were terribly expensive. I remember reading baron's wives only got one new dress a year. Most women only had one dress. There's a reason for the line "twice turned dress."
Oh, have you heard a rumor that haute couture is dying out? I don't think it will completely die away, but it's certainly not in demand as it once was.
no subject
I recently read something on Shakesville about disposable fashion and the harm it causes from abysmally paid workers in third world countries (often women) to filling up the land fill with stuff that didn't sell or was worn a few times and tossed.
It's fun to have new stuff and stuff that's affordable, especially when you don't make a lot or have kids that grow quickly. I get that. For me though, because I want to be as responsible as possible and because I have the skills, I'd rather buy second hand or make it myself.
I haven't heard that rumour, but it's not surprising. Part of it is the designs. There have been a lot of truly hideous outfits on the runways the last 20+ years. Another part is the price; only the truly rich can afford it. If I was rich enough to afford haute couture, I would find a lesser known designer and have her design everything for me and get it specially made just for me.
Plus, glamour is out. Grunge and easy wearing outfits are in. High fashion desperately needs glamour and elegance. People want to look spectacular when they wear fancy outfits. A lot of what has been showing up on runways and at award shows are spectacles.
no subject
Ha, my sister and I are known for saying "Well, what do you expect from an underpaid 8 year old?" One of my mom's friends said we were being mean.
And the people sewing those clothes don't really have time to finish anything well. It's very much an assembly line, with a lot of very underpaid workers. I'm wondering how many folks watched "China Blue." I would have thought that once that film was released, more folks would be aware of the foreign sweatshops where their clothes are made.
no subject
When you are paid by the number of garments you produce, not by the hour, you want to speed through as many as you can, so you get more money for your kids. And when you are doing piece work, which often means the same seam over and over (attaching shoulder seams, so the next person can attach sleeves, so the next person can do side seams, etc.) it gets repetitious and boring, real freaking fast, which means, it's really easy to make mistakes, like sew things backwards, put the seam on the wrong side, etc. (I've had to take a break from sewing because I sewed a seam wrong and had to pick it out. I hope to feel awake enough to get back to it today as I've still got a pile to get through this week.) These people don't get to take the types of breaks necessary to avoid these sorts of mistakes.