Witches and Slippers and Grandma, Oh My!

“Whose hands are those?!”, my Grandmother exclaimed in false surprise as she continued to wash the dishes that Sunday evening. My 6-year-old self stifled a laugh from behind the other side of the sink where I was holding up my hands, wiggling my fingers over the edge of counter. My grandmother could see my hands, but not the rest of me.

“Those must be the Wicked Witch’s hands!” she then exclaimed, and I laughed out loud and quickly pulled my hands down. This was a often repeated ritual during the regular Sunday dinners with my family at my Grandmother’s house. Each weekend as a child up until my early twenties, these regular gatherings with aunts, uncles and cousins were a constant source of joy in my life. My grandmother was one of the most important reasons these Sundays were so special to me. From learning to swim in her pool, going to the movies, just her and I, taking walks around her neighborhood holding hands – as a young person, she was a source of love, happiness and safety.

At the age of about 4, she changed my life by putting in a VHS copy of the 1939 film, ‘The Wizard of Oz’. I was immediately mesmerized by the journey of young Dorothy from dark, grey Kansas to the vibrant, colorful, and magical land of Oz, and all the characters she met along the way. I remember that since that moment, almost every time she babysat my sister and I, I would ask to watch ‘The Wizard of Oz’ while I was at her house. I was in love.

Our Wicked Witch hand game started shortly after I had seen the movie a few times. After Sunday dinner, she would begin her usual cleaning up ritual (“Best not to let it wait”, she would always say) and while she stood washing dishes, I would crouch on the other side of the counter and wriggle my fingers on the opposite edge of the sink while she feigned mystery and surprise, only to finally accuse the mystery hands of belonging to the Wicked Witch herself.

As I grew up, the bond we shared only continued to become more special to me. She helped make our Halloween costumes many years – from ghosts, to vampires, to a ‘Warlock’ costume when I was 11 – the closest thing I could get to being the Wicked Witch. She even created an incredible Caterpillar costume for me when I was in my High School production of Alice in Wonderful, complete with multiple arms that moved with mine thanks to her ingenious use of fishing line.

Fast forward to present day: I now create my own costumes and have been doing so for more than a few years. Recently, I realized that there was one that had been dwelling in the recesses of my mind – Glinda, the Witch of the North – and that I finally had the skills, time, and resources to make the costume a reality. You see, I had always secretly loved Glinda the most. Her sparkling, diaphanous pink gown, beautiful hair and twinkling star wand had bewitched me as a young boy. Sadly, I knew boys weren’t supposed to like things like pink dresses and sparkles, so I had always kept it a closely guarded secret, beaming internally each time I watched the film and Glinda floated onscreen in her color changing bubble.

So, I dove into the deep, murky waters of research on a costume that apparently had vanished without a trace. There were no screen test photos of the actress, the then esteemed Billie Burke, wearing the Glinda costume. No makeup or wig trials shots. No sketches by the costume designer, Adrian. The costume was not held in a museum anywhere and no one seemed to know what had happened to it. But I continued digging, uncovering as much as I could, including what I believe to be false notion that the Glinda costume was recycled and altered from a previously screen-used dress worn in the 1937 film San Francisco, by actress Jeanette MacDonald.

I even went so far as to reach out to MGM studios themselves. While I did make contact with them, they sadly had no saved records and no idea what had occurred to the costume. Between large studio auctions of many props and costumes over the years and the infamous 1965 MGM vault fire that consumed the buildings where many costumes had been stored, it seemed that the whereabouts of the screen used Glinda costume would, and will, remain a mystery.

My resolve to create the costume never faltered once though, even in the face of all this adversity. I found as many photos as I could, discovering there are only about 6 photos of the costume that are not screen stills, including a famous picture of Billie Burke wearing it for her annual Christmas Card in 1940. I scoured each and every photo I could find for details, creating plans, working on patterns, scrutinizing embellishments and props to ensure I could recreate the masterpiece of a costume as accurately as possible.

The entire journey took just under 2 years. I sewed historically accurate undergarments, hand draped the skirt layers, tinted a wig, created jewelry from scratch including a near exact replica of the brooch worn on screen (thanks to finding the jewelry company on social media that originally created the piece and them graciously providing details), plus trial and error and literal blood, sweat, and tears.

I couldn’t be prouder of this costume and how closely it resembles the original. My memories of my grandmother, my love of The Wizard of Oz film and my ability to finally express myself completely are all sewn into and a part of this creation. I was so happy for my grandmother to recently to see my creation as I wore it and know that she was in large part the reason it came to life. I realized I’ve been on the yellow brick road this whole time, from the moment my grandmother first put that VHS tape in. Because now I truly understand Glinda’s words to Dorothy: “You don’t need to be helped any longer, you’ve always had the power.”