My grandchildren chose their Halloween costumes weeks ago because, like everything else, if you don’t grab them when they first appear in the store, you don’t get what you want. You could end up being Aquaman or one of the lesser princesses, or (shudder) no princess at all.
Kids love to dress up. Watch a little girl put on an Elsa dress. It’s transformative.
When we grow up, we somehow forget that. On a recent cruise, there were two nights designated as “dressy.” The cruise director backed down from calling the nights “galas” as history showed that most of the passengers were going to come in at a bit less than that.
Not everyone, though. Some passengers brought out all available sparkles and channeled their inner Cinderella and Prince Charming. The photographers wisely swooped in with backdrops and lighting. The rest of the stodgy steerage people (me included) were obviously less likely to buy the “have it all” photo package, given that we dressed up as little as we could get away with, and who wants to remember that?
These days, I will wear pantyhose if I absolutely have to, but I’m never excited about it.
When I was younger, I thought dressing up was fun. Being a bridesmaid or ringing in the new year wearing something glittery was kind of like Halloween for grownups.
When you become a mom, there are fewer built-in dress up occasions, so you must create your own. Need to raise revenue for your school? Committed to funding the fight against serious health issues? Want to save the (insert name of animal here)? I know! Let’s have a ball (literally), create an evening of glitter and glamour the likes of which this school gymnasium has never seen.
It all sounds magical on paper, but the night of the event, I found myself cramming my usually tennis-shoed feet into sparkly sandals that would most certainly give me blisters and the rest of my body into undergarments whose job it was to squish my work-a-day flesh into considerably less square footage. Halfway through the process, I seriously questioned why I was doing such a thing, but then, there came the Cinderella moment – that instant when I stood back and looked in the mirror, holding my breath (like I had a choice in those Spanx) and saw someone that Prince Charming might actually want to ask for one dance. Of course, my Prince Charming was struggling to tie his tie and sweating and muttering under his breath about how we could have just written a check and avoided the whole shebang, but when he was finally put together, he looked pretty good, too.
At the fundraiser, there was music and dancing, and even though I eventually ditched the pinchy shoes, the magic was still there. Prince Charming didn’t dance much. None of the princes did, but as the night wore on, they were obviously feeling much better as they sat around a table, telling jokes, their ties thrown over the back of the chairs.
The next day, all of the princess committee members were back in our civvies sweeping up the leftover crepe paper and folding up the chairs so the space could be turned back into a lunchroom, but still, somewhere underneath all that mess, a few strains of music remained and we started making plans for the next even “gala-er” gala.
The upcoming holidays will offer occasions when dressing up will be encouraged, and I say go for it. You can deworm the dog tomorrow. For one brief shining moment, be Cinderella. It’s transformative.
