"Are those Jedi robes?"
"Yes, ma'am, they are."
"Oh! Wow, cool!"
Some years ago, the Most Excellent lferion
made me a set of Jedi robes, which I wear whenever opportunity presents itself--seeing as my costume closet has about three choices*
, this isn't as difficult as it first appears.
Now, I could, conceivably, fold the whole kit up, stuff it in my knitting bag, and take same on the Transbay Bus, but really...it's Hallowe'en/Samhain/Winternights/Dead Guys' Night/etc. If there is any
day when it would be better to let your freak flag fly, I can't think of what is. If I can make the hardened pedestrians of San Francisco stop, look, and think--then I've Done My Job.
So I dress.
Drawstring pants. Raw silk undertunic in a grey that wanders toward lavender. Blue-grey overtunic, stole, and sash, all in more raw silk. Black leather belt. Light wool, loose-woven, darker blue-grey burnoose (that's "big flappy cloak-robe" to most of youse). A pair of clogs**
I swirl the burnoose around me and, with two hands, pull the hood forward, over my brow. The last step is to clasp my hands in front of me, overlapping the sleeves. It's a chilly morning as I glide toward the bus stop.
A Jedi never hurries†
. The flow of the Force will guide what she needs to her, when she needs it. This includes the Transbay Bus.
Have you ever noticed that a properly done costume...wears you? As I glide through the ramps and hallways of the Transbay Terminal, cloakrobe swirling around me, I stand straighter, walk in a purposeful glide instead of a stalk, charge, or stroll. I find that myself urged to hold myself to be worth of the image I portray: formal speech, good manners, compassion towards all I meet--I walk too many dark paths to be wholly Light Side, but the Grey Side suits me‡
...and today I can show that.
Another shuttle later, I arrive at work, cloak-robe at my side as the bus was too warm for it. Just before I enter my building, I swirl it around me again, pull the hood forward, thread my hands into the sleeves.
"Aw, now, see--she's getting ready
," declares the AA who came with me from the shuttle stop to the third in our party. Said third had hoped someone would dress up as Ewan MacGregor, and had wanted to be Satine, herself.
"Well, I did used to wear a Padawan braid, but no
costume is going to make me look like Ewan, I'm afraid!"
I hold the door open, let them in, and, alone now, circle Reception and glide at a smooth, measured pace down the hallway and through Administration.
TG, one of the Facilities guys (no costume), and CP, the HR guy who knows enough of Astrology to flip out for Mercury Retrograde (cutesy devil horns), watch me approach.
TG is in awe. "Coming down the hallway, you were perfect
. The walk, the posture, everything."
In a practiced two-handed gesture, I draw the hood back and smile. "Thank you; after having this costume for five years, it sort of wears me--and I've had time to practice."
"Shouldn't you have your hair back in cinnamon buns or something?"
"Unfortunately, that would take a lot more hair than I have. That hairstyle is based on Hopi and some rural Mexican looks and isn't terribly practical to do or
wear." The top half of my hair is swept back into a black clip slightly more practical than a rubber band or leather thong. "This is Qui-Gon Jinn hair, actually."
We share a grin, and I sweep the rest of the way to my seat in quiet splendor, ready to start my day fixing computers here at the Mad Scientists' Home.
Today, the office can see some of my real job, as opposed to the dayjob that pays the bills, and I am happy for it.
And tonight...we feast with the dead.
Happy Hallowe'en, everybody.
- Jedi, Migration Era Norsewomanm, and Victorian/Edwardian Whore. The last of those does not
get to come to work, is nigh-impossible to get into unaided (there's a corset), and is Fraught with a Certain Amount of Peril.**
- Those of you familiar with former iterations of this costume will note the absence of my blue Birkenstocks. Alas, they have had to be retired due to insufficient arch support, only to come out on special occasions when I don't have to walk far, and by "not far" I mean "less than half a mile". Boots are Correct, this is the closest I have just now.†
- Yes, except for a Sith. I know. You're disrupting the mood by making me bust out in all these footnotes, you realise.‡
- Yes, I know, it's not canon. Dualism sucks; I'm not Buddhist enough by half to make a reasonable Jedi, nor Machiavellian enough to be a reasonable Sith. I am Grey, we stand between the candle and the star, the darkness and the light, yes I know that's Babylon 5
, but jms, now, that's a man who understood a non-dualistic perspective. Also, he is overfond of footnotes. Like these. Moving on!