The day after Halloween, while my Facebook feed was being flooded by parents posting pictures of their children in costume, I was at work discussing with my friend various tactics for deterring trick or treaters from my front door. I obviously don’t have children. And the doorbell scares my cat. And I don’t appreciate begging, extortion and gluttony, which is basically what trick or treating is. But I do love a good costume.
So our discussion turned to costumes and the various guises we had inhabited on Halloween throughout our childhoods. Many of mine had dark and morbid undertones with lots of fake blood and fangs and black fabric. One year I had a momentary lapse when my mother sewed a sparkly “good witch” costume. My friend (who is 6’1″ and about 250lbs) was an Oompa Loompa every year. Our discussion peaked the interest of one of our plastic/reconstructive surgeons who was dictating nearby. He said his daughter had wanted to be Voldemort that year. Not Hermoine, but Voldemort. I liked her immediately.
Now, I like to entertain the notion that I am impervious to gender stereotypes, but when he proceeded to described in great detail the elaborate robe which he sewed for his daughter’s costume, I was at first skeptical. Yeah right…you sewed your daughter’s entire costume. Snort. But then he showed us pictures on his phone. And it was gorgeous.
And then I realized…he sews skin better than Buffalo Bill. So naturally he can sew an elaborate wizard costume. Naturally.