Elvis, Flat Earthers and Rhinestone Related Injuries

My mum worked at the convention centre. We were poor, not broke, but just that way the working class are poor without being destitute. You know, one present at Christmas and dad in bed from working night shift, but we were lucky to have Christmas, right?

Mum worked at the Convention Centre’s main desk and would come home with stories about the weird, the wonderful the bizarre people that she would encounter at the conventions. We played a game. She had to explain in as few words as possible the outfits and costumes from the day, and based on her description I would guess what their convention theme was.

‘He had a long flowing velvet robe, a white beard.’

‘Easy, Lord of the Rings.’

‘Ok, how about ‘periodic table of elements t-shirt’.

‘Oh, science teacher convention?’

‘No this was a trick question, it was actually a Flat Earthers society convention- I think the t-shirt was meant to be ironic?’

‘People are so weird. Ok one more.’

‘Alright, I will make it a hard one. Black puppet cat.

‘What? Um...I actually have no idea…I’ve…I give up.

‘Sabrina the teenage Witch.’

‘Ha!’

And so on and so forth throughout my entire adolescence.

It might sound strange, but I grew very fond of hearing about these costumes, these weird creations that people put weeks, months even, of their lives into.

Mum once described a completely hand beaded mesh dress with full 3 metre train, for a very camp themed Princess Diana convention.

I just loved it.

And so, I started to attend. At first it was just 10 minutes here and there, to meet up with mum after school. Next, I was going with her to work on the weekends. Making up excuses to spend Saturday with her at the Centre.

I would walk through an enclave of makeup smeared women attending the L’Oreal event, each lady painted with a brighter and more outrageous combination of colours than the last. I would break through one of these groups to instantly find myself surrounded by motor enthusiasts talking intently about how superior a Ford over Holden is. Next up,100 middle aged, balding men dressed like Elvis. No rhinestone was safe. If I kept walking a new ambush of Star trek devotees followed shortly by Star Wars- that was a mistake programming those events on the same day. Someone was fired over that FOR SURE.

But I loved it. I loved the costumes. The more outrageous the better. The funnier the better. Give me a bedazzled cape and feather headdress any day.

The costumes I loved most were the terrible homemade jobs. It was just so endearing. You could tell that someone cared so much and had the best idea, the best intentions, but just lacked any skill whatsoever to pull it off. I found it incredibly heartwarming. I felt a connection. What a metaphor for my life- trying so hard and just failing spectacularly.

I was hooked, so I started to join in. I would find out from mum what the upcoming conventions were. She would bring pamphlets home promoting the next big Madonna Event or the Toy Story show coming in April. I would go to the $2 Shop and with a minute budget buy all the craft items I needed. I would purchase those specifically cheap craft supplies that only kids love because you can get 30 glitter glue sticks for $3. And 10 pieces of metallic cardboard for $2. The multi stack of scissors that cut zig-zags and wiggly lines, just $5.

With my theme, my materials and the stupid love only a teenage can muster, I would set to work. I spent afternoons, nights even 6am mornings perfecting my silly crafted costumes for that weekends convention. I made a Golden Snitch costume for Harry Potter out of pop-up laundry baskets and golden fabric. I crated a Giraffe for the Zoo themed event by strapping a yellow cardboard roll onto my head to make a giraffe neck. I have had more paper cuts, more hot glue gun burns and more glitter related injuries than anyone I know. But my life was actually transformed by these events.

I met my best friends at these events. I have met girlfriends and serious partners. I have even found jobs. I found a group of misfits where I could finally feel like I fit in. Because honestly, no one who goes to a convention is halfway sane. We are all bonkers. I might not know much about the actual substance of the convention but I can always talk about my costume. People love it.

Over the years, these silly events have become my home. I love crafting dumb, silly costumes in my free time. I love the feel of cutting into a fresh yard of bright pink velvet knowing how good it is going to look when affixed to my body to create an Elton John explosion.

Craft saved me.