Every time I open the door to a world of costumes and props, I feel the same delight I felt as a child when rummaging the loft for fancy dress and any odd bits of past stashed away in the dark pockets of our house. Back then it felt both creepy and exhilarating. It still kind of does.
Now I don’t actually care all that much for fashion, for silks and satins and ribbons and lace - but it excites me to look around and instead of bits of fabric, to see so many other people I could be… I’m pretty happy being myself, but I find it literally impossible not to step out of myself every now and then.
As a young writer I stumbled upon the concept of each person being an entire society - I sometimes think if I didn’t give the different characters inside some space, I’d be asking for mutiny. I might be the captain of this ship, but I’m not running this on my own. And sometimes I look in the mirror with astonishment, spotting someone I hadn’t seen there before, and no matter how it might make me shudder, I suddenly know: this is the person that can get my ship through the storm.
I must remember, though, to put my creepy ship mates back in the box when I’m done.