There was so much to explore with this week’s prompt of Dressing Up, that I really wish I’d managed to get my two example pieces in last week and have my say twice! – I’ve had several attempts trying to write something incorporating toga parties and purple themed fancy dress choices from witches to fairies (even attempting an acrostic – now that is a constraint!)
It became clear that I am evidently the one who holds the camera in our family, as I found no record of me sporting wigs, wings or wicked grins. Most disappointing was the lack of record of a fabulous murder mystery dinner party with friends when I went as the somewhat over-the-hill trapeze artist “Raisa Legova” – I backcombed my hair, painted on harsh black eyeliner and rather cruel red lipstick and thoroughly ‘got into the part’ – accent and all!
Geoff commented that ‘the prompt has certainly released the inner camp in a lot of people. I wonder what is behind this urge to be someone else?’ He wants to know what your theories are.
For me there’s something that forces the child back out from the restraints of an all too intense adult life. It took me a while to get my Legova just right but suddenly I rediscovered a whole new creativity about pretending to be someone else – More observations of the subtle differences between us to attempt to mimic? Perhaps more understanding as a result?
Sherri says her daughter loves the whole dressing up thing as a way of seeking out identity. Perhaps that’s what we’re all up to, especially as children, the role playing being one way of testing and affirming certain things.
For those that would be actors though, this goes another step further. I know Max loves the challenge of understanding and building the entire character, clothes, posture, accent and any other detail that might serve to persuade you he’s really someone else. To him your entertainment and understanding of his dressing up is only good enough, if you forget that it is him.
What do you think?
In a particularly fun compilation this week with some excellent pictures, I would urge you to pop through and check out other’s blog posts as there’s much more to explore in a lot of them!
I ran out of time to chase for confirmation of which photo you might each like for me to share but that gave me excuse to disregard Irene’s preferences anyway and share the beard made of her own dog’s hair – was the poor blighter bald for the play? I think we should be told!
Oliver – UK
Shakespeare had it right. I had only to don the cheap, brown, felt stetson and leatherette bandolier, and wave my chromed six-gun and I was the original man-with-no-name. Not Clint Eastwood. ’Who was that masked man?’ I was the Lone Ranger. And don’t try to tell me that ‘Pale Rider’ was not inspired by him. Then, heroes were all black and white. So why was my outfit brown? Back then, people didn’t question the relationship with ‘Tonto’. It was, after all, an age of innocence.
I moved on, of course. Virtue became defined by the shine on my shoes, the straightness of my woggle, and my ability to protect my sixer from attack from the rear by purple troop. Then later again, carrying an unloaded automatic rifle, I had to march up and down in a blue baize uniform practicing to unquestioningly serve my country. History was repeating itself. I was ‘the man with no name’.
Geoff Le Pard – UK – The Archaeologist and the Aztec
Long before science crossbred a geek and a nerd, the Archaeologist was a neek. Amongst other punishments I suffered for his galaxy-sized intellect was a trip to the British Museum to see an exhibition of Aztec artefacts. I remember a crystal skull and the mind-numbing boredom. He was as happy as a politician with a blank expenses form. Back home, unbeknownst to the rest of us, he made himself a cardboard Aztec warrior outfit. With it on, he announced he was going to walk around the neighbourhood. I can still see my mother’s anxiety and my father’s barely suppressed laughter as he set off, like a little lost parcel clutching a small sword. He spent an age out of sight, possibly seeking a neighbour to sacrifice, before returning for tea. The costume was recycled into a replica of the Black Hole of Calcutta but fortunately I was too big for it.
Tracey Scott Townsend – UK
First Communion was a dressing-up event. Pictures of my nieces show them wearing long wedding-style gowns and veils, elegant pre-pubescent brides of the church, photographed with praying hands. When I made my First Communion my dress was short: I was a sixties bride. I must’ve had a funny-shaped head, the plastic band from which the short veil hung bowed out at the sides. My hair was short too. In a blurry photo showing me in the church’s small yard my seven-year-old knees are pudgy.
My sisters and I were fans of The Sound of Music. Because I was seven when the film came out, I was Marta. My older sister was Liesl and my youngest, Gretel. We got together with a neighbouring family to practice, asking Mum if we could wear our communion dresses to put on a performance for Dad’s birthday. She said no.
Suzanne – Canada – Playing Princess
Fox stole, crinoline, satin and organza dresses, rhinestone jewellery, lace veil, and beaded drawstring evening bag; what more could a woman want? Or a little girl. My youngest auntie would dress me up in all this out-dated paraphernalia from some treasure chest in my grandparents’ house. I had no idea whose wardrobe and accessories these were to begin with, definitely not my grandmother’s as she was a plain dresser. I did not care; to me they were all mine! My Dad suspects they were left behind by Great-Aunt Lily who lived in California for awhile. I was only about four years old when Auntie Louise and I started this fantastical game of dress-up, but I remember bits and pieces of it to this day. To my delight, a couple of years ago my parents found photos of me in splendid bliss as “the princess” and “the bride”.
Luccia Gray – UK – Princess for One Day
I will never forget the white shoes. They were too tight, but they didn’t have a larger size, so I pretended they fit, of course I had painful blisters the next day, but I didn’t mind. It was a small price to pay for feeling like a princess. I wore a long white wedding-style dress with veil that my mother made. I had so many photos taken at home and at church that I felt like a star. I was a very excited seven-year-old princess, for one day. After the ceremony we had a party in the Church Hall, at St. Joseph’s, Harrow Weald. I was at Primary School then, and I’ve lost touch with all the other girls in the picture, which saddens me. I have met many people along the way, but few have remained as part of my life. Perhaps if we had had Facebook, and Blogs, and smart phones, we’d still be in touch…?
Jude – UK
I was never one to dress up in my mother’s clothes or shoes. I’d have caught a clip around the ear if I’d tried. She would not have been amused. She had dozens of pairs of shoes and matching handbags and all I could do was to look at them – not touch. Soft suede, highly shiny black patent, courts and sandals. In Grammar School I took Drama and we had to put on a few plays. I remember a couple well, for completely different reasons, but in one – the Willow Pattern story – I played a Japanese school girl who had to sit on the floor listening attentively to the ‘Storyteller’. My mother, not one for sewing, allowed me to wear her beautiful silk dressing gown which looked like a kimono. It had pink and red peonies and tied with a soft pink silk belt. I felt like a beautiful princess.
Irene Waters – Australia
For fancy dress parties in the early days I was Little Bo Peep and my brother a cowboy. Twice this varied — once going as Sad Sack and another time when we went as Siamese twins in my Father’s pyjama pants. We were co-joined at the back and I drew the short straw and walked backwards all night.
It was a dress up in adult hood that had me itching to get out of my costume. I was the male lead in a musical – I can neither sing nor profess to being male. At one point I had to sport a beard. This was easily done and appealed to my recycling bent as I collected my dog’s hair for the weeks prior and wove it into a hairy beard with no thought to the allergy I would suffer as a result.
Morgan Dragonwillow – USA – Falling into the Imagination
I remember a box at grandmothers filled with dresses, white, cream, blue and green.
I remember being able to escape as I fell into a world of imagination, as I put on those dresses and became a princess, a grande lady at a party, or a queen.
I remember feeling anything was possible while in those dresses, that magic was real, that someday I would be my own person, that someday I would fly away, unseen.
I remember having to say goodbye to those dresses, board a plane to far away lands, living as if in the in between.
I remember crying myself to sleep, wishing myself back to grandmothers, back to those dresses in a box, back to being a princess laughing and dancing.
I remember moments of escape – playing with a scarf, swirling, twirling as nightmares roam the edges waiting.
I remember joy filling my heart as we boarded the plane back home, grinning at the thought of seeing the box again, the dresses and my next fitting.
I remember running out to the old play room, searching every nook and cranny, becoming more and more anxious as my heart felt like it was going to stop beating.
I remember the words so lightly tossed, of no consequence, they had been given away, or thrown away, long ago – turning around, tears falling.
I remember being grown, having a box of my own that will never disappear, will always be here for the grand babies… and me, playing.
Sherri Matthews – UK – A Strange Town
A couple of years ago, hubby and I were invited to a costume party so I turned to the family expert for suggestions: My Aspie daughter.
Her forte is dressing up. As a female Aspie, role-playing and disguise comes naturally as it helps her seek out her identity, her ‘fit’ in the world. As such, she has an array of outfits. And wigs.
I settled on a long, flaming-red wig coupled with an old, black dress slashed at the hem and my sparkly wedding tiara. Hubby wore an Arabian Thawb, something he had brought back from a business trip to Saudi Arabia.
On the way to the party, we realised we had forgotten to bring some wine, so we stopped off at our local supermarket. It wasn’t until we got back into the car that we remembered how we were dressed.
The strange thing was, nobody had batted an eyelid.
Lisa Reiter – UK – Lessons in Love

With the arrogance of youth and feminist anti-domestication, I sniffed at Mrs King’s suggestion I choose Home Economics. I assured her I would be doing ‘proper’ O Levels.
But as the years pass, when I’m choosing faux furs, stretch fleece or plain felts, when puzzling patterns with sheets of newspaper or sat at my machine, she flashes through my mind. I’d apologise but she’s long gone.
Skills she taught, result in labours of love threading joy, pinning hopes and stitching the fabric of my boy’s dreams to re-enact his hero’s triumphs, til now they are his own.
July 9, 2014 at 10:56 pm
Lovely stories and pictures, It’s amazing how many little girls wanted to be a princess or a day (or even a few minutes!). I wonder why none of the boys wanted to be a prince? 🙂
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July 10, 2014 at 8:45 am
Good question! I suppose princes in fairy tales don’t often have a big part. They seem to ride up at the end of the story and rescue the would be princess from the wicked step mother. Whereas the action heroes come with all sorts of action for role playing – we always had to have all the props here for dressing up – swords, shields, magic wands etc!
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July 6, 2014 at 10:38 am
Lovely post Lisa with great memoir writing. I enjoyed reading and smiling at the memories similar to mine. I’m sure someone in my family was once dressed as a Sad Sack, and another as Bored Stiff. My Dad was quite creative when making costumes for us kids. That time to dream of being other than ourselves can be quite important. It reminds me of Anne’s post http://goo.gl/0aY7b9 and a suggestion that perhaps we might dress as the character we write about http://goo.gl/C2EBGM
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July 6, 2014 at 6:45 pm
Bored Stiff is simply brilliant, isn’t it. Sad sack – a cultural quirk to me or is it just my age! One of the things I love about us sharing these things around the world is the different takes and slants and perspectives we might otherwise miss. Lx
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July 7, 2014 at 11:33 am
Bored Stiff was brilliant, but not very comfortable for my brother – walking around between two full-length planks of wood tied front and back! It is great to appreciate the similarities and differences that occur around the world, but I guess most of us could trace our ancestry back to Britain. It would be interesting to hear what happens in other traditions and cultures.
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July 7, 2014 at 12:51 pm
Yes, it would!
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July 9, 2014 at 11:31 am
🙂
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July 4, 2014 at 10:39 am
Really enjoyed reading this compilation Lisa, wonderful stories and fab pics too! Oh I would have loved to have seen ones of you as Raisa Legov, haha! The names are great for these murder mysteries aren’t they? I was trying to remember some of mine but couldn’t!!
You must make sure to get more pics taken of you. I did the same as you with the camera, always the one taking the pics so not that many of me for about 2 decades, ha, but made sure in latter years to get more taken of me and hubby. You can thank Aspie D for this one 😉 Sorry too for forgetting to let you know which one to use, but glad you chose this one. Will remember next time… !
This does raise some fascinating thoughts about the whole concept of dressing up, creating different identities and then to the degree that actors such as your Max take it to the next level, ensuring that we do indeed forget that it is him behind the character he is portraying. I can definitely see that writing fiction and creating characters is like the external version of acting as Charli wrote in her comment. I hadn’t thought about fiction in this way before and as a memoir writer dabbling in flash fiction, I find this fascinating. So thanks for that Charli!
Thinking about it, this is why I love dressing-up so much, I can be someone else, completely lost in that character for a few hours (which is why I love murder mysteries so much) and I feel totally free at those times. As I do when I write.
Thanks again Lisa, I had a blast 🙂
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July 4, 2014 at 9:17 am
Lovely. Dressing up the mind to release a new persona seems so much a part of humanity. I have a friend who dances flamenco. She goes from scrubbed utility to goddess of emotions through a dress, shoes, makeup and half an hour quiet morphing from one to the other. Then she’s on stage and we are thrilled.
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July 3, 2014 at 10:19 pm
Another magnificent collection of memoir. As the observer–having read but not participated–I can see the threads of childhood in so many of these bites. As Sherri wrote in her blog post, dress up seems attached to identity. Yet, as you talk about your son and acting, I’m thinking that acting is the external version of what a fiction writer does in creating characters. It does allow us to explore humanity–our own and what we see reflected in our society. A great prompt and collection of responses! Time for me to jump back in and take a bite next time!
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July 3, 2014 at 10:01 pm
I know, as a child, my motivations were ambiguous. Partly they were to make others laugh and gain a sense of place, a momentary centre of attention. Partly they were to differentiate myself from others. And partly, because my dad hated a show, I think it was to show I could do something he couldn’t (though I doubt I would have been able to express it as such back then). Lovely set of memories Lisa. Thanks for the harvest.
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July 3, 2014 at 8:40 pm
What wonderful stories and photos! I think both children and adults who love to dress in costumes, vintage clothing, etc. enjoy stepping out of themselves and being someone else….even just for awhile. Or perhaps show a different part of ourselves we don’t usually reveal.
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