I'm a stubborn, anti-social party-goer at heart. Oh I love to party - who doesn't. But I want to party MY way. I'm the guy who won't go to a party unless at least 5 of his friends are going so that some sort of group-force field can be assembled metaphysically into the room and the people you're unfamiliar with become mere social muzak. When I initially go to a party I don't want to meet people, I want to have some kind of insane wacky fun with my mates. Not in a vicious way - you won't see me picking up chairs and breaking them over peoples spinal columns - it's just that I don't want to feel uncomfortable somewhere if my main desire is to have a good time. Ok, ok, I'm a social retard and often when I open my mouth, tumbleweed spills out.
Anyway, to the point: when I go to a fancy dress party that's not being held by someone I know, I'm largely critical of the costumes I see. This is mainly because I'm confident that the fancy dress parties I've been involved in with my friends have been some of the most rocking, kick-ass parties of all time. Here's why.
Fancy dress is about effort but also about ostensible laziness. By this I mean that no costume should be clearly overdone. The initial euphoric kick of seeing someone in fancy dress - the accompanying laughter, the ensuing ribbing, the cries of "oh no he didn't" etc - these invariably last a matter of minutes. If you're lucky, there'll be repercussions throughout the night, but on the whole your efforts will be wasted. Spending 100 quid on a hired costume is lame. Not only is it a waste of money, but it also lacks inventiveness by virtue of the fact that you went to a shop where they do all the work for you.
The best fancy dress costumes result from a combination of two things:
1) A genius idea. This is tough, and mostly dependent on theme. Theme's such as "Pirates" or - god help me - "School Disco" suck major league balls and should be extradited from society. How bored are you of seeing school girls, Incredible Hulks and pimps at your fancy dress dos? Put some thought into what you want to go as. Beware however: this is not an excuse for obscurity, unless, of course, the initial confusion over your costume followed by a brief mention of who you're meant to be is followed by those most sought after words: "that's fucking brilliant".
As an example, my favourite costumes in the past have included: The Wyld Stallions, Marty McFly, Dolph Lundgren as Universal Soldier, Knightrider and Hall & Oates (you may notice a certain 80s bias, but you can blame my age for that)
2) An accumulation of items from Oxfam or somewhere similar. So, if you were to go as Bruce Willis to a house party, you'd "invest" in a vest (clever), some old pair of dark, tattered trousers and some fake blood. The fewer items needed to make up your costume, the better. This should come to no more than about a tenner if you're good. Don't spend hours, days or even weeks trying to seek out the perfect get up; it's just not worth it.
Sometimes the worst costume is the most entertaining. This is unfair but true. But again, making a concerted effort to look like shit is a bizarre thing to do. Not only is it just plain contradictory and a waste of your time - (why put that much effort into proving how lazy you are: it makes no sense), but you'll be considered as one of the party's "losers", and nobody likes a loser, you loser. Wearing an eye-patch and calling yourself Jack Sparrow is plain shit. If you don't want to enter into the spirit of the game, just turn up in your normal clothes, people will have more respect for you.
As a general rule, every night out can have the surreal humour of a good fancy dress party. Turning up to a pub night dressed as the cast of Bread is a bit weird - then again, if you're a nice bunch, why the fuck not? But the fact remains that there is an underlying social etiquette, and that's why we're not still playing with our own faeces. No no, nights out can be enjoyed on the costume level with the simple introduction of "props".
I was first introduced to props about 4 years ago. It appeared that a number of wigs, children's toys and short shorts had made their way into my mate's house, or had at least been discovered in somebody's room. Never underestimate the simple joys to be gleaned from watching your best mate don a wig and transform into Dot Cotton. Witness, if you will, as John, the group accountant, sits under a blonde hairpiece and embodies Myra Hindley. And the joy is that as nobody has to be anybody, you can chop and change. One man's Brian May is another man's Sigourney Weaver, and so on.
Refrain from purchasing your wigs at shops such as Bagatelle, wherein you're most likely to find a cheap selection of plastic-fibred mops covering all the colours in the rainbow. These aren't funny. Nor are Groucho Marx glasses, unless worn with utter disdain. Humour in these scenarios is not gleaned from ridiculousness, but from appropriateness. It's a math's teacher approach in tone but a comedy genius' approach in execution.
More facts:
Older people rock fancy dress better. If you find yourself invited to a party full of aging club goers with an unparalleled notion of how to have fun, and there's fancy dress theme going on, you may notice ridiculously clever get ups. Frankly, all of the above become irrelevant when you're in the presence of these masters. They have years of experience and all their social paranoia long behind them, leaving only the purest form of non-egotistical hedonism in its wake. Find a good disco party populated by at least 30-somethings in fancy dress and prepare to be astounded.
Crossdressing is gay. Well, it's not ALWAYS gay - look at Eddie Izzard. But unless that's what you do all the time, don't do it at someone else's party. You're offending so many people by wearing a bra over your sad hairy gut, smearing lipstick over your face. Unless your main aim is to actually disgust everyone, and you subject only your friends to the painful sight of their mate looking like Pete Burns, save it for the bedroom. And again it reeks of unoriginality. The number of people I saw at Bestival wearing dresses with their balls squeezed up their backs was disturbing. Don't men cross dress because it feels comfortable?
And finally: Forget what you're wearing. This is the only sure fire route to deadpan hilarity, thinking that girls find you interesting when they're really checking out your wig, and giving yourself a bracing 5am bathroom mirror shock.
Enjoy!
First published 10 January 2007
Anyway, to the point: when I go to a fancy dress party that's not being held by someone I know, I'm largely critical of the costumes I see. This is mainly because I'm confident that the fancy dress parties I've been involved in with my friends have been some of the most rocking, kick-ass parties of all time. Here's why.
Fancy dress is about effort but also about ostensible laziness. By this I mean that no costume should be clearly overdone. The initial euphoric kick of seeing someone in fancy dress - the accompanying laughter, the ensuing ribbing, the cries of "oh no he didn't" etc - these invariably last a matter of minutes. If you're lucky, there'll be repercussions throughout the night, but on the whole your efforts will be wasted. Spending 100 quid on a hired costume is lame. Not only is it a waste of money, but it also lacks inventiveness by virtue of the fact that you went to a shop where they do all the work for you.
The best fancy dress costumes result from a combination of two things:
1) A genius idea. This is tough, and mostly dependent on theme. Theme's such as "Pirates" or - god help me - "School Disco" suck major league balls and should be extradited from society. How bored are you of seeing school girls, Incredible Hulks and pimps at your fancy dress dos? Put some thought into what you want to go as. Beware however: this is not an excuse for obscurity, unless, of course, the initial confusion over your costume followed by a brief mention of who you're meant to be is followed by those most sought after words: "that's fucking brilliant".
As an example, my favourite costumes in the past have included: The Wyld Stallions, Marty McFly, Dolph Lundgren as Universal Soldier, Knightrider and Hall & Oates (you may notice a certain 80s bias, but you can blame my age for that)
2) An accumulation of items from Oxfam or somewhere similar. So, if you were to go as Bruce Willis to a house party, you'd "invest" in a vest (clever), some old pair of dark, tattered trousers and some fake blood. The fewer items needed to make up your costume, the better. This should come to no more than about a tenner if you're good. Don't spend hours, days or even weeks trying to seek out the perfect get up; it's just not worth it.
Sometimes the worst costume is the most entertaining. This is unfair but true. But again, making a concerted effort to look like shit is a bizarre thing to do. Not only is it just plain contradictory and a waste of your time - (why put that much effort into proving how lazy you are: it makes no sense), but you'll be considered as one of the party's "losers", and nobody likes a loser, you loser. Wearing an eye-patch and calling yourself Jack Sparrow is plain shit. If you don't want to enter into the spirit of the game, just turn up in your normal clothes, people will have more respect for you.
As a general rule, every night out can have the surreal humour of a good fancy dress party. Turning up to a pub night dressed as the cast of Bread is a bit weird - then again, if you're a nice bunch, why the fuck not? But the fact remains that there is an underlying social etiquette, and that's why we're not still playing with our own faeces. No no, nights out can be enjoyed on the costume level with the simple introduction of "props".
I was first introduced to props about 4 years ago. It appeared that a number of wigs, children's toys and short shorts had made their way into my mate's house, or had at least been discovered in somebody's room. Never underestimate the simple joys to be gleaned from watching your best mate don a wig and transform into Dot Cotton. Witness, if you will, as John, the group accountant, sits under a blonde hairpiece and embodies Myra Hindley. And the joy is that as nobody has to be anybody, you can chop and change. One man's Brian May is another man's Sigourney Weaver, and so on.
Refrain from purchasing your wigs at shops such as Bagatelle, wherein you're most likely to find a cheap selection of plastic-fibred mops covering all the colours in the rainbow. These aren't funny. Nor are Groucho Marx glasses, unless worn with utter disdain. Humour in these scenarios is not gleaned from ridiculousness, but from appropriateness. It's a math's teacher approach in tone but a comedy genius' approach in execution.
More facts:
Older people rock fancy dress better. If you find yourself invited to a party full of aging club goers with an unparalleled notion of how to have fun, and there's fancy dress theme going on, you may notice ridiculously clever get ups. Frankly, all of the above become irrelevant when you're in the presence of these masters. They have years of experience and all their social paranoia long behind them, leaving only the purest form of non-egotistical hedonism in its wake. Find a good disco party populated by at least 30-somethings in fancy dress and prepare to be astounded.
Crossdressing is gay. Well, it's not ALWAYS gay - look at Eddie Izzard. But unless that's what you do all the time, don't do it at someone else's party. You're offending so many people by wearing a bra over your sad hairy gut, smearing lipstick over your face. Unless your main aim is to actually disgust everyone, and you subject only your friends to the painful sight of their mate looking like Pete Burns, save it for the bedroom. And again it reeks of unoriginality. The number of people I saw at Bestival wearing dresses with their balls squeezed up their backs was disturbing. Don't men cross dress because it feels comfortable?
And finally: Forget what you're wearing. This is the only sure fire route to deadpan hilarity, thinking that girls find you interesting when they're really checking out your wig, and giving yourself a bracing 5am bathroom mirror shock.
Enjoy!
First published 10 January 2007
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