Being a costumer means dealing with fabric, scissors, pins, tape measures, and delicate matters. My entry into this world began during the Festival of Britain in 1951. I was a 17 year old assistant to the costume designers, a husband and wife team, of an Irish season of plays. Tyrone Guthrie was presenting three plays to be performed in a small London theater by the Abbey Theater Players from Dublin. How did I acquire this job you may ask. I sent identical letters to ten theaters, whose names I found in the telephone directory. Nine of them either didn’t reply or wrote and said no to my request. One theater, The Old Vic, forwarded my request to the designers of the Irish Season. I went for an interview and got my first job. My goal was to be a costume designer and have my name in a theater program by the age of 30.
Sewing and pattern drafting were my forte, but on my first day at work I was about to add a new skill to my repertoire. Actor Joseph Tomelty was to be the body upon which i would do my first costume fitting as a professional and also my first time fitting a man. The costume was an 18th century pair of breeches and waistcoat. Mr Tomelty entered the fitting room and donned the breeches and waistcoat. When he was ready, I entered the dressing room armed with my pins. Fifteen minutes were spent carefully pinning the costume around Mr Tomelty’s ample tummy. I left the fitting room, instructing him to take the costume off. Several minute later he appears and hands me the costume… together with a handful of pins. He had escaped from his costume by removing all the carefully placed pins. Back into the fitting room to start over. Another fifteen minutes gave me plenty of time to contemplate what I had learned about handling pins and actors.
During my first few years I was very naive and often embarrassed by the way my profession brought me into such close contact with other peoples bodies. Not only the variety of shapes, but how everyone viewed their own bodies. There were shy ones who turn away and want you to leave the room. Comfortable ones who shed their clothes without a blink of an eye…theirs, not mine. Some insisted that my tape measure is misinformed, their bust is 36 inches, not 44. I would dutifully write down 36, and change it back to 44 when they left the fitting room.
Working with ballet dancers offered another dimension to the fitting skills I acquired. Here I encounter tights, leotards and unitards; close fitting garments that cling tightly to the body. On tour in Israel, I worked with a designer who introduced me to the task of delicate pinning. His design was a baldric of flames extending from the left shoulder, across the chest, over the crotch and down the right leg. This design was to be attached to a unitard. The dancer has to wear the costume so the appliques can be attached in the correct places. The male dancer put on his torquoise unitard and I had my red felt flames ready. The dancer and I confronted each other with the designer at our side looking on. I began the delicate task of pinning the red flames onto the unitard without piercing the dancers skin. This was a very time consuming process and became extra delicate as I approached the crotch area. It was very embarrassing for me, and I struggled to hide it. The dancer said not a word and did not seem fazed by my fumbling. But he was gay and I sensed my fingers did nothing to change his view of women as sexual beings.
The most amusing story regarding pins, takes place at the Ringling Theater in Baraboo. I came to Baraboo, retired, or so I thought, from costuming, to be close to my family. Somehow I became involved in designing the costumes for ‘Lady Luxury’, a reprise of the play that opened the theater in 1915. This required considerable research and I managed to find some original pieces of clothing. I had some original white pants for the young men in the play. Unfortunately I had failed to check the pants thoroughly, they had button flies. On opening night I was standing in the wings with my apron on with safety pins artfully attached for emergencies and a tape measure around my neck. One young man about to go on stage, rushed up to me in desperation, he could not fasten his fly, the buttons had broken off. Out comes my hand from my apron pocket. I pluck a large safety pin off my apron, down goes my hand inside his pants and I firmly pin his fly together. Success. He rushes on stage just in time for his cue.
No one can say that costuming doesn’t have its moments.