Mask up!

In these days of mask use as a method of public safety and self preservation*, I’ve been thinking about how sometimes personality is lost when you can’t show your face. Sure, you can “smize” and try to convey your emotions, but it’s definitely more challenging than in “the before times” when we walked around unfettered and freely smiling at each other. Still, despite its minor inconveniences (and because of its promise of preventing pestilence and disease), I’m fully, 100 percent in favor of mask use. But that’s not the point of this story. It’s just that masks and facial recognition got me thinking about the challenges of recognizing people under masks and sunglasses and other facial accoutrements. And that reminded me of a few of our early Palm Springs adventures at Halloween parties, and the slightly more fun kinds of masks.

Do you know how hard it is when you meet someone for the first time at a Halloween party? Then, you run into them later and they know you and you have nothing but a blank stare? Like you’re maybe in the early stages of memory loss and at the same time begin to wonder if you forgot to put on underwear that day or not? No? Just me? Fine. In that case, this is a true story from the trenches in Palm Springs, where Halloween is Serious Business (more on that in a minute).

When we first moved here, as I’ve mentioned, we quickly met people and were invited to parties and included in various other merriment. One of the first big events that happened was Halloween, and, luckily, we were included. Being new in town and still trying to set up house, we didn’t throw ourselves into costumes the way we normally would. That first year, when we were invited to several parties, we half-assed it as best we could. One party, we showed up as Bunny (me, in rabbit ears) and Clyde (my husband wearing a “Hello My Name Is…” tag that said “Clyde”). It was a pun, and, frankly, the best we could muster, having just moved into permanent housing a few weeks prior. 

However, our lackadaisical approach didn’t mean that our friends (and their friends) took the same tack. Oh no, there were themes, masks, wigs, you name it. It was hysterical and festive and awfully confusing. 

This is what I mean by Serious Business. I don’t know if it’s the fact that there’s a large gay community here, and Halloween is considered a High Holy Day. Or that there are so many LA transplants, who have access to theatrical accoutrements. Or if people are just extra festive because Halloween is the best holiday ever. (Probably all of those, and more.) It doesn’t really matter the reason, because Palm Springs loves Halloween. And it loves over-the-top costumes. Nobody’s going to Party City and picking up the first bagged nun outfit they can find. Oh no! The planning for Halloween costumes starts weeks (months!) in advance (to be fair, the planning probably starts on November 1 for the Halloween a year hence), and is incredibly detail oriented. 

On Halloween night, in downtown Palm Springs, they close off Arenas Road, which is the one-block strip of gay bars where the magic happens. Everyone comes out in their finest of finery, there’s a bandstand and a costume contest, and folks are strutting their stuff. I remember in elementary school when we waited all day for the costume parade. Then, after lunch, we were allowed to put on our costumes and went out to the blacktop on the playground and paraded for our parents and everyone in the neighborhood to see. Palm Springs on Halloween is kind of like that, but shinier, sparklier, and more risque. That first year, we were in awe. There were unicorns, sailors, a headless wench, and the most accurate drag queen Endora from Bewitched that you ever did see. I’m telling you, it was like Agnes Morehead raised from the dead! 

As someone who, herself, loves Halloween, these are my people. The commitment to not only costume, but character, speaks to me. I’m fully on board with the extra extraness of it all. But that first year, we were like the sad Midwest cousins who were caught unawares when we drove the Winnebago into town for a surprise weekend. And it didn’t really serve us well. Still, we played along as best we could and nobody judged us for it.

When you’re invited to a party by new friends, it’s great! You’re new! You’re included! This is your chance to get in with the cool kids! You are on your best behavior. You meet more new people and widen your circle. Unless everyone is in costume, many of which are covering their faces. It’s like going to a party with MI-6. Every goddamn person is in disguise, and despite their charming demeanor (which may or may not be commitment to character), you’re never again going to remember who they were. 

At one party, we met a lovely couple. They were “the ladies who lunch” in marvelous drag, one in sequins and other in a fabulous chapeau. We had a wonderful conversation and a lot of laughs. And at the end of the night, I couldn’t begin to tell you who in the hell they were.  At another party, we met a different couple who came as what can best be described as Walmart shoppers crossed with the cast of Deliverance crossed with some guy named Darryl who works at a gas station in rural Arkansas. They were as delightful as they were disgusting. And it was easily six months, and multiple meetings at other soirees, before I made the connection as to who on earth they were. Both couples are now very dear friends . . . but it certainly wasn’t because we knew who they were after that first meeting! 

Had it not been for two things: our newness and our lack of disguises, we would have blended into the herd of people and never connected with them again (or at least not until much later). We were plain enough that we were memorable. 

I’m ashamed to admit that this still happens. Each year, we’ve attended various Halloween parties and had wonderful conversations with all sorts of characters. I’m not great at remembering names on a good day, but I’m usually pretty good with faces. Unless they’re heavily made up, covered in a mask or -- better yet -- a gauzy veil, or disfigured by theatrical prosthetics. It’s not fair, really, but I’m not sure how much longer I can get away with feigning recognition. “Oh, it’s you! So good to see you again!” is only believable once or twice. Eventually, you have to learn people’s names (especially when they know yours, your occupation, and at least three of the different places you’ve lived in the short time you’ve been in town). 

I promise to do better. But maybe you could help me out by inviting us to a party where everyone comes as themselves? 

*PSA: Wearing a mask cuts your own risk of catching coronavirus by 65%, according to the chief of pediatric infectious diseases at UC Davis Children’s Hospital, so please do yourself and your fellow humans a favor and mask up!