As a rule, I tend not to engage in any of the interactive costume-wearing portions of the attractions I visit. This comes across as being a bit of a spoil-sport somehow, and despite my travelling mostly alone all these years, there is a tendency for other visitors to sense my hesitation and to take it as an opportunity to offer to hold my phone and take my picture or otherwise call me out on my perceived unwillingness to dress up for a photo-op.
The thing is: travelers are dirty. Grime is unavoidable on the road and I say this as a usually-filthy person myself. I sweat, sometimes, my back sticking to the driver’s seat of the camper when the sun shines through the windshield and heats up the cab. I drop crumbs on myself and spill drinks and sometimes wear the same shirt for a day or two on end. I rarely change my pants. I wear the same shoes every day- their reeking inners plugged up by my feet.
I do change my socks.
My point, in all this, is that I wouldn’t want to wear a costume after somebody like me has worn it. There are parasites out there. And communicable skin diseases. Bad vibes, even- they could permeate the clothes and make for a rough day. I avoid costumes where I can but, as I pull into the parking lot of ‘Dress Like Me,’ I get the distinct sense I won’t get out of it this time.
‘The general consensus on ‘Dress Like Me’ is that it is one man’s fetish put on display in such honest terms that there is something almost wholesome about it. The owner, Freddie Lawson, does not agree. He claims that there is nothing sexual about his business, has chosen, instead, to think about it as a sort of art project. This, he explains to interviewers who are dressed in his clothes- they must be in order to secure the interview. Lawson does not speak to women who aren’t dressed like him and rarely speaks to men unless they do the same. He’s quick to end any interview that suggests there is a deviance in this hobby of his. Sometimes he posts rambling political tirades online. Reading them, you wouldn’t think he’d be so hung up on clothes.
Lawson doesn’t have much in terms of style. This is not to say his clothes are out of fashion, though some certainly are. It’s just that his wardrobe is, at once, eclectic and run-of-the-mill. The wildest items he owns tend to be t-shirts from dive bars and old shirts featuring the patterns of yesteryear. His weirdness leans vintage, which makes it a little hip, even, but not any more interesting than one might find at the local thrift store. If one were to dress as Lawson for the day, the costume would be unlikely to raise the eyebrows of the general public, which brings us back to the question: why?
We know, of course. We just want Lawson to admit it.’
“Well a fine welcome to you, young man.” Lawson is older than I’d imagined, likely in his late seventies. He’s built like an old farmer gone soft and he walks with a frailness that he doesn’t seem entirely used to. He’s the sort of man that slaps a stranger on the back when he greets them. He meets me in the parking lot, “Just you, eh? That makes it easy. And you’re round about the right size. Come on in and we’ll see what we’ve got for you.”
The ‘Dress Like Me’ experience costs five dollars. The payment is comforting, somehow, placing this in the sterile realm of business transactions rather than whatever else it might be construed as. Less comforting is that there is no ticket- that Lawson simply tosses the bill loose on a table in his excitement to get me to the bedroom.
“Had some people in to do up the closet.” Lawson takes the stairs slowly. “Everything hanging and in order now. Kneeling over those old plastic boxes were aggravating my knees and everything came out creased. Now you and me get to enjoy it all hung and ironed.”
He opens the door with a flourish and, indeed, I see that he’s got several closets and that each is packed tight with clothes hanging on reinforced bars. In the center of it all is one of those full-length, multi-angle mirror situations one tends to see in stores.
There’s a camera and he sees me see it. “No worries about that one. Just some security.” Lawson walks over and produces a small piece of paper with a strip of painter’s tape already adhered to the upper side. He uses this to block the camera.
“You’re not worried about me?” I ask. They may be the first words I’ve spoken to him, and they produce a belly laugh.
“Let’s get you dressed.”
-traveler
