The Letter D

This evening I'm participating in one of my favourite activities: a costume party!

HOWEVER. The party is for someone I don't know, this person being a friend of the new boy's. So while I generally make it my philosophy to dress as outrageously and/or skankily as possible (hey! you have to unleash your inner vixen every now and again, right?! I have waxed lyrical on this topic before, in fact), I also understand that social convention may require that I behave myself somewhat in order to get to know these new people - without alienating them with too much sluttiness or, worse, just generally being completely inappropriately dressed for the event. This is actually my worst nightmare, and was beautifully illustrated in Bridget Jones' Diary.

She did rock out her outfit, and she did do it with as much dignity as possible... Yet we all know that she was socially ostracised for the duration of the party.


The party is themed "D". I abhor "letter of the alphabet" parties. They symbolise (in my mind) rather significant narcissim (you shall all come dressed as something beginning with the first letter of my name! Oh, ok... You may come along as me - in fact: that's exactly what I want! Show me how you see me) and a complete lack of creativity on the part of the person choosing the "theme". I much prefer a real theme, but I obviously had no involvement in the planning of this party, so I can merely sit judgmentally (and in silence). I do hope - after this rant - that none of you readers have had a "letter of the alphabet" party. If you have, I'm glad I wasn't invited. :o)

Back to the matter at hand. The letter D. Originally I had a million different ideas, but eventually settled on Dorothy of Oz - primarily because I already own red shoes.* It's like when you go racewear shopping: you're either trying to find a dress to match the hat you bought yonks ago which you love with all your heart and have waited patiently to wear, or you're trying to find a hat to match your awesome new dress. Rarely is it pulled off with much success because it's very hard to match trans-seasonal colours with each other. Amateur error.

As it was in the case of my costume hunt.

* Adorable gay man and style guru (for a while, anyway) Carson Kressley once memborably (in my mind) said: "My mother said that only little girls and whores wear red shoes". I say: "Carson, you (and your mother) are so wrong! Red shoes are delightful when done properly. And Dorothy was certainly one of the early pioneers.")


So I hunted down a blue & white check pinafore and puffy sleeved white shirt. And I came up with: (a) an obnoxiously expensive hire costume (no!); and (b) the porn star take on Dorothy. I also discovered that stores no longer sell blue and white checked aprons, so I can't even try to do the craft, DIY version of Dorothy.

I have been forced to move on from Dorothy, as I was reluctant to fork out $80 for an event that others may or may not dress up for (I judge people who don't wear costumes to costume parties), nor am I prepared to look completely slutty** for a bunch of people I don't yet know.

So I have come up with Darlene the Diner Girl, based loosely on True Blood's Sookie Stackhouse - the ultimate in modern-day diner girls.

It's lame, isn't it? Although to my credit, she is being loosely combined with Frenchie from Grease.

If you can imagine that...

**I will be showing some cleavage: it's not all demure and boring. I have a "Darlene" name tag, a tray, a pink scarf and pink apron, purple wig and some of those crazy pink glasses from the era. I really need some rollerskates, but don't like my chances of staying upright. I have a hot pink push-up bra and a skin-tight white t-shirt.

Seriously. The things we do for love: wasting an opportunity for flashy tackiness? Unbelievable!