A friend posted a video clip from our old days as costumers at Marcon when we had two entries in the masquerade competition. The first was K’hoji, Secret Emperor of the Klingon Empire: a friends poodle with a warbled rubber forehead and pleather armor. The other was Zathras from Babylon 5. He had been my victim in a makeup demo earlier that day. The pretty woman he propositions is my wife in her Queen of Cups costume.
I walked into our vintage and costume shop the other day, and a photographer friend of Kit’s looked at me and said:
“I want to shoot you.”
Oddly enough, that is a common occurrence. Many people want to shoot me. At least half of them are photographers. Frequently, this is a function of my costuming. Dozens have wanted to share a photo op when I was done up as Snape from Harry Potter. Many more would stop Kit and I for pictures of our garb at conventions or ren faires.
During my years as a street mime, it was a fifty/fifty split between cameras and small arms fire. Or at least, pimento loaves wielded in anger.
I don’t change my social media profile pictures as frequently as some authors I know, since I no longer have a screaming need for the world to validate my existence. It still warms my heart a bit to have women look at my face and smile, even though I know it is not from appreciation of my rugged good look, but amusement at the mustache that rides my upper lip and looks like an illo from a Dr. Suess book.