What to wear?

Today is the last working day before Halloween. The people at the office where I work had been talking about whether anyone would dress up, and by the end of the day we had a pretty good majority vote that dressing up would happen.

Costuming can reveal aspects of someone’s personality in ways unachievable by any other method. The person is given a blank canvas and an unlimited palate of colors to work with, so the possibilities are only limited to his or her imagination, creativity, individuality, and integrity.

“If I can’t find my hat, I can’t go to the party. If I can’t go to the party, I can’t show my face in the office again. If I can’t show my face in the office again…”

I really didn’t know what I was going to dress up as. I have too much self worth not to dress up, but none of the ideas I had or suggestions I was given were motivating me. I thought, if I can’t come up with something good, then I’m just not going to dress up at all. But that kind of a copout is selfish and irresponsible.

Over the years, the name Heath Bryant has become synonymous with awesomnicity. If there is ever an activity which is allowed to impose high expectations in presentation, people count on Heath Bryant to deliver a memorable performance. Whether its teaching a Sunday school class, recording an account of a cherished family tradition, or dressing up for Halloween, I have become accustomed to not just getting the job done, but to do it with dignity, with humor, and with my own personality woven throughout.

“We never lost an American in space. We're sure as hell not gonna lose one on my watch. Failure is not an option!”

Not dressing up was not an option. I had been milling over ideas for several weeks and nothing seemed to stand out. I had plans to hang out with my long time friend Allen and his wife last night, so I knew that any costume shopping would need to happen between 5:30 and 6 Thursday night, if I was going to need anything for my costume Friday morning. The only thing I’d seen which I’d considered buying was a Shaggy (from Scooby Doo) costume at Target.

Time was getting short and I hadn’t come up with anything better, so I swung by TarJe to pick up the outfit. I wasn’t completely into the idea, but the display photo on the packaging made it look like the kind of thing that, if executed well, could be pulled off successfully. So I picked it up, and determined to make it work.

“The clothes fit?”
“Yeah! Everything except the boots, Doc. They’re kind of tight! I dunno, are you sure this stuff is authentic?”
“Of course. Haven’t you ever seen a Western?”
“Yeah, I have Doc, but Clint Eastwood never wore anything like this.”

The minute I took it out of the packaging, I knew that wearing this costume would tarnish my reputation for ever. The wig was unruly, the stitching was shotty, and the pants were so small that when I bent my legs to sit down the waist line sunk to reveal a healthy three quarters of my healthy butt. There was no way I was wearing this to work—where I SIT at a desk for eight hours straight with my rear facing anyone who enters my cubical.

“Even if I wanted to go, my schedule wouldn't allow it... Of coarse if I bumped the loathing til 9:00 I can still be done in time to lay in bed, stare at the ceiling, and slip slowing into madness… But what would I wear?!”

By this time it was too late to shop for another costume (every store in Sandy closes by midnight—EVEN THE GROCERY STORES!) so I just went to bed, but I couldn’t sleep. How could I show my face if I underperformed on a holiday? It just seemed too uncharacteristic to be possible.

In my mind and in my closet I raced through anything that I might be able to pull together for a costume. A sheet for a sumo diaper? No, too revealing. A bath towel for a Punjab turbin? No, the Hindu lady I pass in the parking lot would be offended. Then I finally remembered my Superman T-shirt. I wore it on my mission and it was a huge hit.

“Sorry, Kid. I don’t do this joke any more.”
“Aw, c’mon.”
“Look, I’m sorry, it’s over.”
“But this is a solid bit! Please?”
“Alright, but I’m telling you for the last time.”

Now, I’m not one to repeat a costume—its demeaning to an audience to tell the same joke twice. But that was in California five years ago. There’s no shame in sticking with a solid bit—one that can work in any town with any crowd.

So I woke up extra early this morning and ran out to buy some glasses and black hair spray. I couldn’t find any hair spray, so I had to decide if I would just go with my light brown hair or improvise.

“Get us transport to England – boat, plane, anything.”
“I'll meet you at Omar's. Be ready for me. I'm going after that truck.”
“How?”
“I don't know. I'm making this up as I go.”

I’ve seen the old Christopher Reeve (rest his soul) Superman movies about a dozen jillion times and on some of the DVD special features director Richard Donner mentions that Reeve had lighter hair than they wanted, so they colored it with black shoe polish. So I thought I’d try the same.

“Lord Vader! We only use this facility for carbon freezing. If you put him in there it might kill him.”
“I do not want the emperor’s prize damaged. We will test it… on Captian Solo.”

I didn’t want to ruin my hair, or do something that would die my hair for weeks. I didn’t want to gamble, so before I jumped in the shower, I tested it on an inconspicuous patch of hair, the whereabouts of which will remain undisclosed. The shoe polish washed right out, so I decided I’d be okay with doing my entire head.

It was pretty messy and took forever, but it turned my hair black that’s all I wanted. So I threw on a suit leaving the shirt and tie undone with my superman shirt underneath. The glasses top it all off, but they’re 1+ reading glasses and wearing them hurt my eyes after a while.

“Look, John! There’s mermaid lagoon.”
“And the Indian encampment.”
“And look, there’s Captain Hook, the pirate!”

It was fun to see everyone else in the office dressed up. One guy was a beach bum, another a heavy metal rock star. One guy dressed up as a member of a co-workers office fantasy football team—the team hasn’t one a game yet, so the costume included band-aids, black eyes and broken bones.

“Oh, Mother! You look simply lovely.”
“Why, it’s just my old gown made over, but it did turn out rather nicely, didn’t it?”

What makes a good costume is when no-one has to ask what you are. Often, niche costumes can work too if worn within a niche community. In fact, many times a niche costume is much funnier and more appreciated when explained to those who understand the niche. If you have to explain, “well, I wanted to have this, or wear that, but I didn’t have it or couldn’t find one” that is proof that your costume sucks.

For example: one girl at work dressed up as a hockey player. She wore a matching jogging suit—and that was it. I wanted to ask her, “so, are you supposed to be a jogger, or someone who’s staying home from work sick?” She said that she has rollerblades, a helmet and a hockey stick at her desk. So I’m thinking, “oh, so you’re GOING TO BE a hockey player.”

“Marty, you have to wear the boots. You can’t wear those futuristic
things in 1885. You shouldn’t even be wearing them in 1955.”
“All right, Doc, look. Once I get there I’ll put them on, I promise.”

My issues with her costume are these—if there is a part of your costume that makes or breaks it—for Halloween’s sakes: don’t remove that part! Later in the day, she put on the roller blades, so now, she’s wearing a jogging suit and roller blades. Another issue I have is that hockey is one of the sports that has a very distinguishable jersey style—and it doesn’t look anything like a warm-up jacket.

“Marv!”
“Harry?”
“Why the hell did you take your shoes off?”

“Why the hell are you dressed like a chicken?!”