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First step in being a super apparently has nothing to do with what you’ll do on stage and everything to do with what you’ll wear on stage.

Got an e-mail a couple weeks ago addressed to six of us super women trying to coordinate a date and time when all of us would be able to come to the company costume shop for a fitting. I would have thought such a prospect would be akin to cat herding, but miraculously the Friday evening option worked for all of us and we were told to meet at the security desk at company HQ and we would be escorted to our fitting.

Now, I still had no idea what exactly I would be doing in this show. Our original “congratulations” e-mail promised details — including role assignments — would be forthcoming, but none of us got them, so we were all a bit confused about what exactly we were in for, but nevertheless it didn’t really matter because, well, you could dress me up as a rock and I’d probably be okay with it because… I’m on stage during a professional production, yo!

Which isn’t to say that I didn’t have some ideas/hopes about getting to wear something glamorous…

The guy from the costume shop met us and brought us downstairs. I’ve been in the basement before (it’s where the studio locker rooms are), but there was a hallway I’d never noticed previously. We meandered through a few twists and turns and landed in this magical land of sewing machines and crystals and tulle.

I looked around trying to comprehend that this is the workplace for probably a dozen people. It is just so… crazy to me that people get to do this for a living. It’s so… artsy and cool. And it makes me feel so… corporate and boring.

But hey, at least I get to visit and hang out there for a little while, so that’s something, right?!

The costume manager and the wardrobe supervisor rounded us up and figured out who was who. I guess both casts of female supers were there (with a few exceptions from the second) so they were trying to match us with our double. As they went through their lists they named a few of us and said that we were villagers (I think?) and they’d do our costume fittings first.

Okay, so at this point I was feeling a bit disappointed. I was thinking/hoping I’d be one of the harem people which somehow sounded more exotic (ignoring the whole degrading connotation bit).

But… you know… see above. I’m on stage in a professional production, I’ll get over it.

Just allow me this brief sulk… and, okay, carry on.

They pulled out my costume which was this rather large, blue, linen-ish dress with a matching robe. On top of that I have a white veil that covers all of my head except the eyes. I kind of had to snicker at myself realizing that all my dance friends are asking which shows I’ll be in so they can come see me and here I am highly unidentifiable.

After the hem was pinned I changed back into my street clothes and gave the costume to my double to make sure it worked for her. I was feeling a bit dejected. But then…

The wardrobe supervisor said to wait outside the dressing area until they were done and then we’d try on the harem costumes.

Wait… I get to do… both?

Okay, now that I realize that I get to do two roles my disappointment has turned to elation. Now I realize that I’ll be in multiple scenes, and, OMG, this is going to be an even cooler experience than I was expecting!

I stood around waiting our next turn in the fitting room trying not to appear too giddy and stared around at the room. It was funny how much it actually resembled the organized chaos of our own studio company’s costume room. Boxes lined shelves by the ceiling labelled with various ballet names. I battled a fierce urge to figure a way up there to riffle through them.

After the village ladies from the second cast had tried on costumes and reverted to 21st century attire they called us all in for a quick run-down of some opera house etiquette. Primarily related to getting dressed. I didn’t realize that not only do we have dressers but that they are unionized and therefore there are very strict rules about what we can and cannot do re: our costumes. Basically… don’t expect to get dressed any time before 30 minutes prior to curtain and do not help yourself or anyone else into or out of costumes. And don’t be offended if you get booted to the back of the line when a real dancer comes in to be dressed. I think there were some other rules, but it was actually kind of a relief to know that someone else will be in charge of the whole process and I just need to know where to be and when.

After our lecture they started handing out costumes to the first cast. There were two basic types of tops: one was the sequined bikini top, the other an incredibly sheer short sleeved leotard with the sequined equivalent of pixellation over the chest. (The bottoms for both were the elastic-cuffed pajama bottom type.) I was relieved to find out I was in the bra group; somehow it seemed the safer option!

Thankfully mine seemed to fit fine without any need for alterations. They topped it all off with a hat that will clearly require a great many bobby pins to keep in place with a gigantic veil attached, complete with finger loops so I can swirl it seductively, or something. The costume-guy-in-chief (not his actual title) took a quick picture of me as apparently I am one of a number of us who doesn’t have hair of appropriate length (our hair is supposed to be down and curled and after an aggressive trim at the beginning of the summer mine is only just shoulder-length) and therefore will require a wig.

After having my costume tagged with my name we were set free. I was happy to discover that there was still plenty of time to make it to the open adult class afterwards, if for no other reason than to spend another hour or two in the mecca of ballet before returning to reality.

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