“Her clothes are blacker than the blackest cloth, and her face is whiter than the snows of Hoth, she wears Dr. Martens and a heavy cross, but on the inside she’s a happy goth.”
– Neil Hannon
I love black and dressing in black. I like the dramaticism of fancy dress. But I could never make myself take it this seriously. There’s a point where my brain says “that’s too much”. This, to me, is too much for the everyday. But cosplay? Oh, yes, please.
On a side note, I really want to do Daft Punk for this Halloween, but doubt I’ll be able to pull it off. My costuming skills are sub-par, and I know nothing about circuitry. I’m such a pretentious fuck that “good costume”, in my book, equals “scary in-depth masterlike authenticity”. Observe.
This is Jia Jem, a prominent Chicago cosplayer, doing Chika from Junko Mizuno’s Miznotic Fantasy (I think; I’ve never actually read it):
This is me, trying to recreate her costume. Suffice to say, I failed miserably, and had to make certain, um, concessions:
See the resemblance? Neither do I. This, dear readers, is what happens when I try to make costumes, or blogs, or anything, really. Well-intentioned–but ultimately poseuristic–shit.