It was during a phone-storming session with my best lady Lill that it hit me to dress as "The Pop Art Marilyn Monroe." The vision swept over me as I was pawing through a Taschen art book on my couch while Miss L suggested I "go as a Lichtenstein or something." I somehow connected my ownership of a purple halter dress to the book and Lill's comment and landed at the intentionally off-register, wild-pallated print of Marilyn. About an hour later I realized I could have simply consulted my shower curtain for the notion.
Moley, moley, moley.
It actually wasn't very hard to pull this costume together, and I'm still kind of in love with the idea but I had a few major qualms with the way it turned out.
1. I am not a makeup artist and this costume is all about precise makeup application. The lovely Julia McMattress lent me a gorgeous Kevin Aucoin book that showed me, step by step, how to achieve Marilyn's signature look and I still couldn't get it quite right. I needed a thicker, deeper blue on my eyes. Matte, not shiny. A truer red on my lips. I wanted to find a way to reflect the black of the screenprinting in my facial features, but after the stress of spraying the wig (getting to that soon) I opted not to mess with the face too much. I do think my results were also stunted by the uncompromising fact that,
2. I look nothing like Marilyn Monroe. I don't look anything like Peggy Bundy either, but true resemblance mattered much less in last year’s costume. The spandex, the leopard, the eighties belt, the peep-toes, the HAIR - all very much gave away my persona (as did my constant whine of "Oh Al!"). The challenge of dressing as the Marilyn screenprint is that the face IS the entire costume. The hair definitely triggered the association, but a more heart-shaped face would have helped.
Just block out my mug.
Taking my god-given bone structure into account, I decided next year I'm dressing as Barbra Streisand. That's one I can pull off. I may even try and get together a group of cartilage-wielding ladies to represent Babs through the ages with me. There will be Funny Girl Barbra, Hello Dolly! Barbra, Yentl Barbra (That'll be a fun one. Shot not.), Oh-so-close-to-retirement-nope, nope-I'm-back Barbra... My grandmother will plotz.
I preserved the bump and hook for you Babs.
But back to my gripes...
3. Wig=Major pain in the ass. Especially a short wig soaked in two cans of spray paint (one yellow, one black), stretched over a foot and a half of thick, straightened Jew-fro. This sucker just did not want to stay on and pulling it down covered my hands in an ever-present, Sunday-Times-style grime. Smudging the face was also of concern throughout the night. Too high maintenance, even for Miss Stacia.
4. I chickened out. Part of the original plan was to apply Andy Warhol's signature to my Marilyn dress, a coveted summer gown I purchased at an UWS flea market last year, with Crayola washable marker. When I put the costume on for a test run and was only moderately sold on the overall effect, I opted not to risk the ruin of a beloved garment for the sake of added authenticity points. This is quite unlike me. But I opted to sign Warhol's name (quite skillfully, i must add) to a paper card instead and pinned it to my purple frock for identification. The majority of the effect was lost though. If I am the artwork, Warhol would have signed ME. Oh bitter compromise!
5. "Where's Andy?"
When I originally conceived the costume idea I thought it would be exciting to travel with an Andy Warhol by my side to aid the reference and up the ante. Andy and his Pop Art Marilyn would have kicked some major costume contest ass. I also loved the idea of playing muse for a night. Why the fuck not? I had my eye on a fellow to suit up in silver locks and he fell through in more ways than one, but that's the way it goes, eh. Again, next year it's Babs. She's served as inspiration for one of the most hilarious Southpark episodes of all time (Muse enough for me!) and I'm pretty sure she's what 70 now (?) and probably frigid, so she most likely won't notice if she doesn't have a companion by her side on Halloween night. Although, people who need people are the...No, no, fuck that.
6. Trend bitterness strikes. About three days before Halloween the Times ran an article on the return of Andy Warhol's presence in the public consciousness. Some designer at Lord & Taylor or Saks dressed up the store's window displays with Warhol theme, Warhol tote bags started appearing at shops in the Village. My decision to dress as Warhol's Marilyn had absolutely nothing to do with the article or the supposed return of Warhol worship, and this really is a minor and petty gripe, but I still felt like New York Times blew my load.
I must admit that in spite of all this post-holiday bitching, Pop Art Marilyn actually did go over pretty well. I strutted my electric blond to a party in the Billyburg the Saturday before Halloween and aside from a few scattered misses ("Madonna!," "Medusa!"), most people appreciated the Warhol nod.
But partially due to the overall discomfort of the costume and mostly due to the inappropriateness of the halter top in a corporate environment, I opted not to dress as Marilyn on Halloween Tuesday. There was no way I was going to work sans costume though. I toyed with the idea of doing a modified Bjork (less leg), but quickly rejected the recycling option and immediately experienced an uncharacteristic fit of costume construction spontaneity.
(Looking in my closet)
"I need to wear this tutu to work. Yes."
And that pretty much sealed it. I just wanted to be a Pretty Pretty Princess (That's TWO "pretties."). I purchased a tiara and a wand and rocked the pink high-top converse a la four-year-old ballerina, and had a fucking BLAST in the office. I danced and pranced and leapt and spun and granted motherfucking wishes, oh yes I did.
Please ignore Pretty Pretty Princess' black socks. Wednesday is laundry day. But feel free to compliment her Pretty Pretty pumpkin hand tattoo.
After work, Carolina, DazRazzle, J Faust and I headed down to the Halloween parade. We were blessed with impossibly practical Halloween weather, a 60-degree night, perfect for parading. I had collected a smattering of both horror stories and endorsements of the parade from my coworkers over the course of the day, but the ladies and I found the experience to be overwhelmingly positive. The parade is Candyland for a costume fanatic like moi, and my walk amidst this traveling freak show constituted some of my favorite hours of 2006.
As for costume specifics, the robots were cool...
and Salt n Pepa nearly killed me when I saw them.
But for some reason, the old school video game costumes came out on top. A few that really nailed it:
The Super Mario Crew
Mr. and Ms. Pacman
Tetris
The Tetris guys were awesome because they hobbled along in those stifling, unwieldy cardboard boxes, but stopped to assemble themselves for photo ops every few blocks (and they fit together quite nicely).
The only costume more photo-ready/friendly than Tetris was the toast. By far my favorite costume of the parade, maybe of all time - two dudes dressed like pieces of BREAD.
The toast of the town.
These guys are the jam.
The ladies and I came up with more when we first saw these fellas, but I done gone forgot 'em.
The toast guys are fucking geniuses because every person in the whole goddamn parade wanted their photo taken between two pieces of talking bread. Every sexy policewoman, every slutty firefighter (and you know the streets were overflowing with NY's half-clad bravest and finest) wanted to be part of a Halloween sammich.
I was no exception.
Pretty Pretty Princess Sandwich!
Nor was J Faust, who dressed as Olive from Little Miss Sunshine, complete with fully functional strip gear and authentic 3rd-grade glasses.
I'm in love with this photo. I want to eat it.
It should also be noted that the toast guys were completely goofy, not creepy as they well could have been. I doubt they realized how well the gag would go over. They seemed thrilled just to be in middle of it all.
I found myself sort of wishing I had worn my flashier costume to the parade, which was a runway for golden wigs, sexy dresses and high concept costumes. But the converse worked out well for me in the long run, seeing as how the ladies and I traversed at least 50 blocks, probably more, before night's end.
A few of the other random Halloween highlights included Carolina (that dirty Jeter-lover) sporting my Red Sox hat for her "Red Sox fan at a Yankee Game" ensemble:
The lady looks great in red.
And Daz's unexpected costume validation in the form of a Lady Sovereign promotional cutout plastered to a random parade barricade.
Well, your album DID drop on Halloween, Lady S.
Screw my obsessive-compulsive nature and perfectionist tendencies. Fooey on authenticity and precise replication. All hail creative costuming, walking artwork and cultural homages. Celebrate tutus and prancing and magic and "pushing it," and having two princesses but no Yoshi, and making giant sandwiches out of old ladies and ninja turtles and bongs and half-naked drill sergeants. And next year when the 31st of October approaches, stick with me peeps, and don't let anybody rain on your parade.
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