Masquerade
As some of my readers may know, I attend conventions. I am not terribly dorky, but the overall friendly atmosphere and the plethora of nerdy types like myself helps the social butterfly in me help spread its wings a little. Mind you, it takes more than just a nice aura radiating from the people around me for my shell to really crack, but I enjoy keeping my inhibitions, so I’m fine with still being a bit shy. Depending on the group of friends I go with, I may stay more in the background. Still, at times, I crave the spot light, and with certain people, there are mitigating factors surrounding my goal of attracting all the attention.
For one, most of my friends were in theatre. That means that the battle for the spot light begins as soon as more than two people enter the equation. Even with only a trio, there is the issue of who is the lead, who is the protagonist, who is commanding the stage. A silent tension, barely noticeable, strikes the air and remains there, making the situation a tad uncomfortable. Still, if one of the two trying to direct the spot light upon him/herself decides that the fight is not worth it, then the day out is much more enjoyable. Whenever I am with friends and this somewhat sudden need to be the center of attention overtakes my logic, I usually fight it down, telling myself that being the right hand man, the supporting actor, the one who sometimes steals scenes, is just fine. Usually, that is true. I am not one for drama or in-fighting, because it is not a fun thing to start the fire nor stir the flames. In my social interactions, I have always been on the sidelines; I’ve never tried to take control, to be the unelected leader, because the desire has not been that strong. It has sat there, quietly, brooding, but never has bubbled up to the surface. Oddly enough, at conventions, the inner diva in me bursts forth, albeit without a whisper, and tries to tell me what I should say, what I should do. The logical part takes over once more, because I must inspect my surroundings: my friends are used to commandeering the stage, and what would it exactly do for me to interfere?
I suppose because we are all actors playing different parts in different ways at conventions (even when we have the same costumes, the interpretations of characters and our actions while in the costumes will change from person to person), then we all want that spotlight. This is the second issue for me. When a hundred plus people are all waving their arms and demanding the spot light in some way or another, one tiny voice will not change the spot light’s course. Depending on one’s costume, the series’ popularity, how in-character one is, and how well made the costume is (or how well it fits, in some cases), then a con-goer will be more respected. There is a certain social tier even within the anime/manga subculture. For example, if you wear a well-made Naruto costume and stay in character, then you’ll be noticed. People will point you out and take pictures of you, and show those pictures to their friends. If your costume is not well-made but you’re in character, then how in-character you are determines how much respect you can garner. The tier goes down farther. If you’re not cosplaying at all, then your behavior and if you’re well-known on the Internet will help grab a smidgeon of spotlight. Of course there are exceptions to these rules and they are dependent on certain variables (what if you cosplay and you are well-known online, for example).
So, with all these fans clamoring for the spot light, even in the subtle way, it is extremely difficult to be noticed. That is why I usually try to calm the diva-monster within me, because she seems to find conventions to be her homeland for some reason or another. At this past convention, I was in a costume as Luigi Largo from the movie “Repo! The Genetic Opera.” I thought it was possible to steal the show with my humor and my acting, but a friend of mine dressed as Graverobber, and was loved by everyone who recognized us. Instead of allowing the diva to come out, I became nervous and then resentful at both myself for not taking the stage and at my friend for having that seemingly effortless ability. It was frustrating; I had practiced, I had worked on my characterization, my movement, but the Graverobber was just perfect, and I was completely overshadowed. Also, the friend who played Graverobber made our Pavi’s mask, and he was more recognized than me (he was recognized and I was not is the truth), so she was able to take credit for that as well.
Because I had issues with my costume, I improvised as Amber Sweet, the youngest Largo sibling, for our impromptu performance of “Zydrate Anatomy.” I was able to stay in character somewhat, but I watched a recording and I looked terribly stiff. In comparison to Graverobber, I was like a mannequin. She moved effortless, and grabbed all of the attention. Meanwhile, I remained in the shadows again, even as Amber Sweet. I envy my friend’s ability to just fall into character while I must practice and practice, and even then I still mess up while in front of a crowd. I do not understand the random lightning strike of the diva complex because I usually feel better and act nicer when the diva stays away.
It seems, though, that I am even in denial about how much I want to be in the spot light. My resentment and jealousy disgust me; I even thought poisonous things about a friend I had not seen in awhile because her body was not utterly perfect. She was beautiful even with a tiny bit of weight, almost all of which she was able to conceal, and even with it she looked voluptuous and gorgeous. Meanwhile my self-esteem decided to drop into my bowels and stay there, even while I tried to drag it out. It fought me hard; I gave up, tired and disappointed. I cannot exactly pinpoint why the diva complex appears, nor can I get rid of it completely. It still bubbles under the surface, hoping to rear its ugly head again. So do I live in a constant masquerade, wearing a smiling mask to cover my frown of displeasure, or am I actually content being on the side? Do I really want the glory and all its crawling, itching tendrils, or am I happy as is, being someone, but not the one?
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