A Tale of 2 Fetish Events - Part 1....
One of the reasons I didn't work the run of the Opera was, I was invited to a friends wedding. The Bride to be and I worked several years ago on a bunch of shows. She was one of those rare women who listened to my dating/ relationship woes without judgment or scorn. I and I talked her through hers. So I felt very honored to be invited to her wedding.
This meant wearing a suit offstage. Something I'm never quite comfortable with. Suits are what the normal ( or "Normals" - my blanket statement for all 9-5 office drones ) 40 year olds wear in offices around town. To their credit, guys like that have years of wearing suits. To me, suits really are relics from the 1950's. When men were married off early to women who kept house. Didn't divorce or cheat. Suffered quitely and kept up with the Joneses at all appearances. The modern world is so casual now, especially here on the west coast. That suits, in most of the worlds I frequent, are almost fetish clothing.
The biggest issues I have with suits, not being a regular wearer, is: How to stand, walk and work in them without sweating profusely. I wear a suit and then I want to move around town like a construction worker. And I don't have all that extra the side knowledge. Of keeping ties fresh and straight. Dress shirts regularly clean but unmolested by laundry tumbles. Really, just feeling comfortable in a suit takes years. As I'm really a blue collar, arts industry worker. I wear suits on formal events in some of the theatres, as stage crew for the symphony or on a special event when the dignitary on stage, or more importantly, his minders request formality. And the rare occasional opening night for a professional Broadway musical, which warrants the wearing of a suit.
Wearing a suit reminds me of Alex P.Keaton from Family Ties. One of the most uncool characters from T.V. when I was in Junior High. And every time I wear one I can't shake that feeling of looking, like really look like a cheap car salesman. Instead of what I really want to embody....James Bond. Especially now that their is a blond James Bond at last.
Supposedly women love a guy in a suit. That's never been my experience. Sure, more old ladies will venture to ask me for directions around town. And the pan-handlers get more aggressive when I shake my head to their requests. But, I've hardly ever noticed a positive effect on the opposite sex around my age. If women do notice me in a suit. I often wonder whats wrong with what I'm wearing. Or I think they're quietly mocking me. To me, in my world, women drool over guys who look like rock-stars, not car salesmen.
But, the invitation requested a suit so I went out and bought one. Once again trying to find that elusive suit that made me feel sexy.
My last really nice suit, A Hugo Boss number that set me back 1400.00 was about 5 years old, was showing it's age from moving one two many cello risers for the VSO. And wearing it, when it was new. I always felt like a lier. Plus, men's suits are leaner cut then they have been in the past. They almost have the cool early sixties Mod / Rat Pack / Malcolm X look to them. Putting them closer the rock-star side of my male sexiness equation. luckily, all the truss hucking and backstage work has helped me keep my pre-college waistline long past when most of the normals my age are long spread past it.
So, I bought some sporty Italian designer copy. A slim leg, two button number in a dark navy blue with fine sky blue pinstripes. After a nice last minute hemming job at home ( I can hem my own pants, thanks to my Set Deck work. ) I checked the mirror. With a black bowler hat and standing up straight in polished dress shoes. I felt like John Steed in a suit, looking for my Emma Peel. And for the very first time not Alex P.Keaton.
As it was very hot. I ditched the Bowler hat. And ran to the church.
The wedding was a lovely event for all. A third of all the wedding party were all middle class friends and family imported from england. So, my lean pinstripe suit ensamble went over quite well with her new Husbands family. As when I arrived to the Chapel I found myself to be one of the few vancouverites in the witness contingent to even bother wearing a suit. Which almost annoyed me, that people are that lazy out here to not make an event special enough to at least wear a suit jacket. And not MEC Sport clothing, a badly contrasting tie and clean runners.
The reception afterwards was more drinking and chatting to all the other new connected friends. Some who I sort of know from theatre around town. But, never worked with enough to even know their names. Owing to the look, I drank my fair share of martinis, no olive just a twist of lemon. At the end. Supplied with high proof Pre-liquid courage, the wonderful practice of chatting with pretty ladies of the stage. All in wonderful wedding party gowns. I bid my farewells to the party, bride and groom and thanked them for the invite. Went home, and changed into real fetish party clothes. Bondage pants, combat boots and a new, cool armless rubber fabric police shirt. And took off the night of dancing and voyeurism at Sin City.
That's Part 2....
One of the reasons I didn't work the run of the Opera was, I was invited to a friends wedding. The Bride to be and I worked several years ago on a bunch of shows. She was one of those rare women who listened to my dating/ relationship woes without judgment or scorn. I and I talked her through hers. So I felt very honored to be invited to her wedding.
This meant wearing a suit offstage. Something I'm never quite comfortable with. Suits are what the normal ( or "Normals" - my blanket statement for all 9-5 office drones ) 40 year olds wear in offices around town. To their credit, guys like that have years of wearing suits. To me, suits really are relics from the 1950's. When men were married off early to women who kept house. Didn't divorce or cheat. Suffered quitely and kept up with the Joneses at all appearances. The modern world is so casual now, especially here on the west coast. That suits, in most of the worlds I frequent, are almost fetish clothing.
The biggest issues I have with suits, not being a regular wearer, is: How to stand, walk and work in them without sweating profusely. I wear a suit and then I want to move around town like a construction worker. And I don't have all that extra the side knowledge. Of keeping ties fresh and straight. Dress shirts regularly clean but unmolested by laundry tumbles. Really, just feeling comfortable in a suit takes years. As I'm really a blue collar, arts industry worker. I wear suits on formal events in some of the theatres, as stage crew for the symphony or on a special event when the dignitary on stage, or more importantly, his minders request formality. And the rare occasional opening night for a professional Broadway musical, which warrants the wearing of a suit.
Wearing a suit reminds me of Alex P.Keaton from Family Ties. One of the most uncool characters from T.V. when I was in Junior High. And every time I wear one I can't shake that feeling of looking, like really look like a cheap car salesman. Instead of what I really want to embody....James Bond. Especially now that their is a blond James Bond at last.
Supposedly women love a guy in a suit. That's never been my experience. Sure, more old ladies will venture to ask me for directions around town. And the pan-handlers get more aggressive when I shake my head to their requests. But, I've hardly ever noticed a positive effect on the opposite sex around my age. If women do notice me in a suit. I often wonder whats wrong with what I'm wearing. Or I think they're quietly mocking me. To me, in my world, women drool over guys who look like rock-stars, not car salesmen.
But, the invitation requested a suit so I went out and bought one. Once again trying to find that elusive suit that made me feel sexy.
My last really nice suit, A Hugo Boss number that set me back 1400.00 was about 5 years old, was showing it's age from moving one two many cello risers for the VSO. And wearing it, when it was new. I always felt like a lier. Plus, men's suits are leaner cut then they have been in the past. They almost have the cool early sixties Mod / Rat Pack / Malcolm X look to them. Putting them closer the rock-star side of my male sexiness equation. luckily, all the truss hucking and backstage work has helped me keep my pre-college waistline long past when most of the normals my age are long spread past it.
So, I bought some sporty Italian designer copy. A slim leg, two button number in a dark navy blue with fine sky blue pinstripes. After a nice last minute hemming job at home ( I can hem my own pants, thanks to my Set Deck work. ) I checked the mirror. With a black bowler hat and standing up straight in polished dress shoes. I felt like John Steed in a suit, looking for my Emma Peel. And for the very first time not Alex P.Keaton.
As it was very hot. I ditched the Bowler hat. And ran to the church.
The wedding was a lovely event for all. A third of all the wedding party were all middle class friends and family imported from england. So, my lean pinstripe suit ensamble went over quite well with her new Husbands family. As when I arrived to the Chapel I found myself to be one of the few vancouverites in the witness contingent to even bother wearing a suit. Which almost annoyed me, that people are that lazy out here to not make an event special enough to at least wear a suit jacket. And not MEC Sport clothing, a badly contrasting tie and clean runners.
The reception afterwards was more drinking and chatting to all the other new connected friends. Some who I sort of know from theatre around town. But, never worked with enough to even know their names. Owing to the look, I drank my fair share of martinis, no olive just a twist of lemon. At the end. Supplied with high proof Pre-liquid courage, the wonderful practice of chatting with pretty ladies of the stage. All in wonderful wedding party gowns. I bid my farewells to the party, bride and groom and thanked them for the invite. Went home, and changed into real fetish party clothes. Bondage pants, combat boots and a new, cool armless rubber fabric police shirt. And took off the night of dancing and voyeurism at Sin City.
That's Part 2....
jamila:
Hey, dressing up is weird, I'm with you there. I wear heels at least every other day...with pants. But I don't know how to wear a skirt or a dress...I feel awkward as all hell.