Playing Dress Up

I used to pretend I was a horse when I was a little girl. I can still remember running home one night from my friend Gloria's house, just around the corner, but in my imagination I was in an open field galloping, my gorgeous, silky mane blowing in the wind as I headed home, to the light in the stable window waiting for me. I felt so free.

I stopped pretending I was a horse because, well, I'm not a horse. There are some people, apparently a lot of people, who still like to pretend they are animals. A large group of them came into the restaurant where I work this weekend. It was part of a convention titled Fur Con.

The people who dress up are called Furries. They wore name tags just like any other convention group, like the Shriners, or the teacher's union, except they were dressed as green coyotes or purple tigers or red dragons. These weren't kids, either, in these animal costumes. They were adults playing dress up even if they had apartments, and cars and jobs and marriages. The furries could order cocktails, but only if they took off their heads.

They were a friendly and kind group of people...animals...whatever, and most of us at the restaurant said about them "to each his own." Or her own. I started thinking how really it wasn't that odd to play dress up.  I wear a costume to my waitress job ...black apron, black shirt, and black shoes and pants. I could go to a funeral every night and fit in.

Bikers have a costume,

...black leather, a sneer, and a beer. The biker folding his arms doesn't look as much fun as the waving fox with the green bandanna in the photo above. I like the fox's fur better, too. Soft.

I've been to the Renaissance fare several times and have met up with Vikings. Slightly intimidating, but when they take off their furs and chaps they probably put on a suit and tie. Wearing clothes as if you lived in Norway a zillion years ago might help these guys keep sane in their office cubicle selling flood insurance or time shares. I used to like to clip on my mother's rhinestone earrings, dab on some rouge, and clop around in her high heels when I was a little girl. Now I do the same thing...except my feet won't let me wear the heels anymore. I still like rhinestones.

At the furry convention, participants went to seminars on such topics as how to make a dragon's tail, how to tell people you are a furry, and other fun stuff.  Then they danced and played video games. All this got me thinking about what animal I would like to be. One of my coworkers said he would be a lamb, another a cat.

Years ago, I went to a seminar once about finding ones spirit animal. The seminar was free and what the heck.I love free stuff. Anyway, I was told by the leader of the seminar, a man who looked like Crocodile Dundee, an accent, a didgeridoo,  and a raggedy hat, (his costume) that I was a deer.

 

 I love deer, though Bambi made me sob. However, when I looked for photos of deer, they were either hiding, running scared, or lying dead surrounded by hunters dressed in camouflage, one ugly outfit. I think I'll skip being a deer, and stay a writer. Besides, most deer don't wear rhinestones. I just wish my writer's group would want to dress up now and then. Here we are are at the book store looking very  normal. Good thing people can't see inside of our heads. Writers have some wild imaginations even if they are dressed like normal people.

We sit and make up imaginary worlds with make believe people. Maybe we could write better dressed up like donkeys and elephants. I'm thinking my idea might not go over so well so I guess it's best writers focus on make believe with pen and paper and let other people use our imaginations as a spring board to visit new lands and meet unusual people.

 

And so I guess we will leave the dress up to this sexy foxy guy. There's just something about a man in a fox costume. Wait. This could be a woman. It's a wild world out there full of all sorts of animals of a different color.