It is bank holiday weekend. Jason is away scampering about being an Orc. Yesterday I took Oscar and Tallulah to the scamping site, and we went and visited daddy while he was actually being an orc. They thought this was absolutely amazing and insisted on dressing up, even though we were only going for a couple of hours, because technically we weren’t supposed to be there at all. I insisted on dressing up with them, because, well, I don’t really need a reason to dress up. I just enjoy it.
Also, I didn’t feel I could let the side down. Jason has new scamping gear. He looks like this:
If everyone else was dressing up, I could hardly let the side down.
Tilly would totally have dressed up too, but she was at work.
Interestingly, as we were wandering around a large tent strewn field, bumping into various people in costume (not everyone was full orced up due to the fact that the game proper didn’t start until the evening), I realised a strange thing about myself.
I realised that I don’t like dressing up for a specific purpose. By this I mean for things like fancy dress parties, which I don’t terribly much enjoy, or for specific events. I find it all a bit weird and forced. On the other hand, I do love dressing up in every day life and will take every opportunity to indulge myself in this habit, except on days when I am forced to do a lot of heavy lifting, or run for a bus.
On the way to the scamping site we had had to stop off at a supermarket to pick up a few vital equipments. I had more than happily wandered up and down the aisles of Sainsburys’ looking like this:
Yet when we got to the event, and most people looked like me, or more extreme, I felt hugely uncomfortable and wanted to go home and change into jeans and a t-shirt almost immediately. What is all that about?
I suspect it’s something deep rooted and awfully psychological about my need to either stand out, or blend in. I’m not sure which. On balance I think that I am more comfortable with people looking at my clothes than at me. If everyone looks like me, then they’re more likely to look at my face, and possibly see something I don’t want them to see – and I don’t just mean my wrinkles and that really nasty spot near my eyebrow.