It is pandemonium in the dressing room. Sashes are tied, tears are mended, makeup is applied and final touches are completed. Quick change after quick change results in a flurry of taffeta, silk and spandex. In the middle of it all is my mom, pinning skirts, painting faces and fixing any issues that have somehow arisen in the past five minutes. The resident fairy godmother, she transforms average schoolchildren into princes and princesses, munchkins and witches and fairies and mermaids with intricate costuming and artful accessorizing. Ultimately, the chaos settles down as the actors take the stage. In the wings, my mom lets out a breath before she heads downstairs to await the return of the actors, ready to transform a pirate into an Indian or a ball attendee into a townsperson.
Costume designing seems like a glamorous hobby full of sequined ball gowns and glittered accessories. However, while sequins surely can be found in abundance, not everything that glitters is gold. My family likes to joke that show season sticks with us after it is over. Or rather, show season sticks with our clothes. For months after the close of a show, we find silver sequins on our sweaters and red feathers tucked in our pants. This is due to the fact that, despite common belief, the work is not finished after the curtain falls. Rather, the fairy godmother packs up her magic wand and every last scrap of fabric away into trash bags and whisks them away to be washed. Several loads of laundry later, the costumes are reorganized, properly labeled and put away. Despite the diligent process, buttons and glitter still end up in subsequent loads of laundry. The remnants of a long season of theater linger.
However, most people are not present to witness these effects or even the process of this challenging job. It takes much more than a wand, a flick of the wrist and a bibbidi-bobbidi-boo to transform 100 odd students into something out of a storybook. Faith, trust and pixie dust can only get you so far. In my house, for months plenty of long nights and endless days are filled with the unrelenting sound of the sewing machine. This 24/7 job demands every ounce of creative energy and moment of attention. Overtime is the norm and is non-compensated. When everyone goes home, the fairy godmother continues to prick her fingers as she pins together the 17th dress she made that night.
Yet, the challenges are not without rewards. While most people only see the result, which accounts for about 1 percent of the process, they are not limited in their ability to witness the magic. It is in the moment the curtain rises where miracles are made. A shy girl gets to rule a kingdom, a whimsical boy gets transported to another land and everyone in the audience gets to experience their transformation with them. Sure, I have seen my mom exhausted and awake after the clock strikes midnight, constructing 8-foot-tall puppets of elephants, alligators, camels and deities; but, I have also see her smile through it all. She is able to use her innate creativity and passion to create anything from a self-transforming gown to a replica of Katy Perry’s left shark. The work of a fairy godmother is not simple, easy, or quick, but the transformation sure is magical.
