Apparently my costume warrants harassment.

There is no great Council of Steampunk. No overseeing ruling class that decides what it is and is not. Yet, it seems many people on the internet think they are a part of this imaginary institution. These elite few believe they wield the power to dictate what is acceptable. They believe this so much that they seek out images on the internet to venomously critique. Fear their awesome judgment! Woe be unto those who dare don goggles, gears, corsets, or other sorts of traditional trappings!

I get it. Some people think Steampunk is played out, or that it’s too “mainstream”, or that “ur doing it wrong!!1!” To those I say: chill the fuck out.

I really, truly don’t understand the rampant hatred of most, if not all, Steampunk that some people hold. There are things I’m not particularly fond of when it comes to cosplay and personal style, but not enough to go about the internet screaming like a little bitch about it.

I’ve been aware of the Steampunk haters for quite a while, but the whole thing really came into shocking detail when I participated with a cosplay group that Steampunked notable DC Comics characters. Overall, the reaction we received was positive, but there were a few shrieking voices that decided we were, on the whole, rather crap.

I personally received scorn because I had goggles on my Poison Ivy costume, along with some pseudo-gears made of beads on my corset*. These two items were apparently an unforgivable transgression. I was accused simultaneously of not understanding my character and not understanding “correct” Steampunk. I won’t go into lengthy detail of the functionality of my costume parts, but everything had a very specific reason for being there. There were items I included, such as the goggles, because I was using the earlier incarnations of Poison Ivy as my reference. (You know, the days before she was part plant and was more crazy botanist.) But it became obvious that it didn’t matter to some what other things my costume contained, or what my reasons were, just that those two items automatically discounted it from being anything but a shoddy and lazy attempt at cosplay.

Here’s what I want to know of those naysayers: if all of these conventional pieces of Steampunkery are off limits, what is left? And at what point does it cease to be Steampunk and becomes simply Victorian? Or perhaps something where you cry that it’s not Steampunk enough? Where is this entirely arbitrary line? Will you just know it when you see it? Or is it more of a state of mind?

Here’s what I say: Steampunk as you see fit. Will you catch flack for it? Probably. Should you care? Not a damn. Remember that the nastiest commenters succeed only in making themselves look petty. Your pleasure at your costume/fashion aesthetic is what is really important. There are some versions of Steampunk that I don’t think are all that stellar, but I’ll protect the rights of the wearer to do whatever the hell they want regardless. I don’t get to decide what’s right, and neither does anyone else. Glue gears to your ass and make a corset entirely out of goggles if it makes you happy. Just be sure you’re doing it for you.

Lastly, because I know it will inevitably be brought up, I have indeed seen the music video ‘Just Glue Some Gears On It (And Call It Steampunk)’. Admittedly catchy. Admittedly entertaining. But not the end all, be all, of the genre. Deal with it.

*I get asked about my corset a lot. It was purchased online and already had the beading stitched into it. I didn’t think it was going to be such a big deal, but it seems I was wrong.

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A few months ago I was so fortunate as to be asked to participate in a music video. While I’ve been in front of the camera a number of times, this was my first involvement with a music video. I had a blast working on it and actually portrayed two different zombies (Jill Valentine and one dancing in front of a white backdrop).

Kudos to all of the talented individuals that made this come to life, and they will always have my thanks for including me on such a fun project.

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Not a lick of makeup.

My name is Mac, and for the past 17 years (since about 6th grade), I’ve spent almost every day under makeup.

My love affair with makeup started small with play kits in elementary school. The big turning point was my first tube of real lipstick in 6th grade. Slowly, but surely, I added products to my daily routine. I was a girl that got picked on a lot, and the makeup helped make me feel more confident and prettier than I was generally given credit for. For the past many years, a complete daily makeup routine for me included: foundation primer, foundation, concealer, powder, rouge, eyeshadow primer, eyeshadow (generally blended from three different shades), eye liner, mascara, brow powder, brow gloss, and some sort of lip colouring (lipstick or gloss). On especially fancy days I might add highlights, fake lashes and other such accoutrements. On my most basic days I’d wear, at minimum: primer, foundation, powder, brow powder, brow gloss, and mascara.

Today, I didn’t wear anything.

I had finished washing my face this morning, looked into the mirror and said “fuck it”. This is an extreme rarity. Despite my many years in the work force, I can still count on one hand the number of times I have gone to my job without at least a touch of makeup. In fact, I’d probably still have fingers left over. But something weird has happened lately. Thanks to my daily routine taking so much time, I have gone out a few days with less makeup than usual, and you know what happened? I got compliments. That’s right. The girl who has hid and generally only felt pretty under makeup was told she was still easy on the eyes. Sad fact, perhaps, but true, that I was flabbergasted.

As someone who has been a long time advocate of people (and especially women) feeling happy and confident with themselves, I have still been caught up with my own vices. This particular one has been bad enough to cause me to fuss and fidget in the mirror on a daily basis when time might be better spent doing something else. I’d make excuses for myself every time I thought about going without. Someone would notice that blemish. I look like I have circles under my eyes. My eyebrows are too thin and look weird. There was always something to deter me from walking out of the house in confidence and without my mask. And as the years went on, I kept finding more and more things that could be improved in my routine.

Let me get this out now before I go any further: I love makeup. I model, I act, I cosplay. I can’t imagine these things without makeup, and I love getting myself ready for all three. It’s okay for me to love makeup. It’s not okay that I put the burden on myself every day to fulfill this routine. Getting made up for a night out or a photo shoot is fun. The daily chore of applying before I feel okay to do something as trivial as hit the grocery store is not. Somewhere along the journey, that line started getting blurred for me, and it’s time for me to give myself a break.

I know I am not alone in this. I know that many other women also use makeup as a sort of shield. Society does have unfair expectations of women, and even the most confident and outgoing of us can find it hard to ignore. Think of all of the “news” stories about which actress went outside without makeup. And certainly, if you’ve read any of those so-called articles, you’ve perhaps seen the slew of comments (many from women) decrying their fresh faces. Women are taught that it’s not okay to go outside as you are. Take a look back to the daily advice for women from any 50′s magazine, and then look at one from today, and you’ll see they’re not as dissimilar as we’d like to think.

Another sad fact that occurred to me recently is just how few of my friends and family have seen me sans makeup. There are people I have known for years who don’t know how I look underneath it all. Granted, I’ve become somewhat expert at applying my makeup in a way that it doesn’t overtly call attention to itself, or to the point where people think I look clownish, but I know it’s there. It’s still enough that when I show up without that people take notice. I recently had an instance where a friend saw me without for the first time and couldn’t figure out why I looked different. I told her I wasn’t wearing makeup, and she was sincerely surprised.

So today, in addition to heading to work makeup-less, I posted the above photo to my Facebook and Twitter. The only other pictures online (that I can recall) where I’m not wearing makeup are from when I was dressed as Princess Leia in 5th grade, and then one from a web series before I was put in makeup, and even that shot was run through Instagram. The outpouring of support has been immense, and I am thankful to have wonderful people in my life who like me just the way I am. It’s refreshing and freeing in a way I never expected.

I can’t guarantee that tomorrow I won’t come to work without makeup. It’s going to take a while for me to be able to do it with any regularity. (We are talking 17 years of a cycle here.) However, I have decided that I owe it to myself to try. I’m not giving up makeup, and I probably never will. I have too much fun with the colours and there is the undeniable enjoyment that I get from it. But I will not be beholden to it. It is a tool that I choose to use when I want to use it.

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After a long weekend at Comikaze, and being the regular cosplayer that I am, I thought it time to address some of those folks that make my con going experiences painfully creep-tastic.

Dearest Convention-Going Butt Photographers-

Yes, that’s right. We’ve seen you. All those times you thought you were being sneaky at snapping a cheeky shot of us in catsuits or leotards? You wish. You have relatively the same amount of stealth as a bell-wearing ninja in neon. Putting the phone to the side of your head like you’re taking a call? You know that button makes a shutter noise when you click it, right?

Look, we’ve heard the same old lines ad naseum. You’re a dude, you’re supposed to like butts. Just look at the way we’re dressed, we’re practically begging you to photograph our costumed posteriors. Here’s the sad bottom line, my friend: you are an asshole, and no amount of hemming and hawing is going to change that.

With the oodles of professional butt-shots on the internet (many of them available for free, I might add), why on Earth do you feel it necessary to capture ours? And to most often capture them on the shitty excuse for a camera that’s lodged in your mobile device? Assuming the worst in what you do with them, certainly you can find better quality, and consensual, imagery for your wanking pleasure aplenty on a little old thing we call the web.

If you’re not using the images for the worst of intentions, then what in the bloody hell are you hoping to achieve? Congrats on your, likely poorly lit, unflattering shot of my ass that you can tote about with you on your phone. Wow, and you can even back it up to the Cloud! Goodness and golly gee! The things technology can do these days!

I’m not going to lie. I make catsuits and leafy Ivy undies look good. However, when I paw through boxes of back issues at a convention, they are set at a height that requires me to bend at the waist. I do this not for your viewing pleasure, but because I absolutely have to find that copy of Batman #183 in a condition that’s hopefully short of fossilized. Just because I’m avidly seeking my treasures doesn’t mean I’m not aware of your creepy self standing behind me and acting like we’re at a photoshoot where I’m Derek Zoolander and you’re yelling “Dance, monkey! Dance!” You are the reason I keep folks around me to help shield my delicate rear from becoming one of the many in your less-than-tasteless collection. And yes, I did see when you stepped side to side, swaying like a pussy willow in the breeze, hoping to evade my own personal butt security guard.

Allow me to illustrate just how low you are on my list. The next to last entry on my list are the guys who get a little too handsy after actually asking my permission to take a photo. To find you, we have to scroll so far down the chart that we can smell the brimstone simmering near its location. In fact, the edges of my chart are tattered and seared mere fractions away from where you currently find yourself.

I am willing to bet that, with some exceptions, you are not the guy who snaps photos of women’s badonkadonks while trotting down the street on an average day. (Though perhaps I’m giving you too much credit.) Just because we happen to be in costume, this should not be misconstrued as a free pass to snap photos of whatever you like. Hate to break it to you, but there are people in them thar costumes. Women as people, what will they think of next, right?

I’ve been pretty forgiving in my convention travels, and that’s my bad. However, don’t be surprised when I loudly call you out on your behaviour the next time I catch you. I hope your out-of-focus booty shot was worth it.

Sincerely-

Lady You-have-no-idea-how-much-I-want-to-punch-you-in-the-face esq.

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I am a vegetarian. Actually, to clarify, I walk the border of pescetarianism. Kind of sounds like I worship some fishy god, right? (Cthulhu fhtagn!) If it does, chances are you may not know a lot about those of us with alternate eating habits, and that’s okay. However, what you do likely know are the stereotypes and jokes made at the expense of vegetarians, vegans, pescetarians, et cetera.

“How do you know if someone is a vegan? They’ll fucking tell you!”

“How many vegetarians does it take to screw in a lightbulb? I don’t know, but where do you get your protein?”

“Can vegetarians eat animal crackers?”

You get the picture.

While yeah, some of these are kind of funny, it gets really tiring after a while. Because of this, I really haven’t said much about my eating habits except when necessary, such as when dining with others. Bringing up vegetarianism when food is not being actively discussed generally just earns me those stereotypical notions of who I am or why I’m vegetarian. Actually, those are brought up even when food is involved. So, before I go on, allow me to clear up my personal reasons for this life decision:

It was a health issue and I don’t want to support industries with cruel practices towards animals any more than I do those with cruel practices towards humans.

That’s it. I don’t have a sermon to deliver, and I’m not going to try and convert you. I made a decision based on things important to me, and I came to the conclusions on my own after reading a lot of documentation and research.

And guess what? I don’t care if you’re not a vegetarian. Eat what you want.

What I do care about is the lack of understanding and respect for my choices and of those who share them. Hard as it may be to believe, we’re pretty much like everyone else. We like variety, and there are things we hate eating. (Cucumbers and tomatoes are my arch-nemeses.) If I could count every time I’ve been opposed to a restaurant choice only to be told they have salads…as if it fixes everything. One salad at Meaty McMeaterson’s doesn’t help me as much as you may think.

Let me flip this for you. Let’s say you can’t eat lettuce, but all the places we pick have only got lettuce on the menu except for one burger option. But you’ve had a burger for lunch. Oh, and that burger for dinner. In fact, every time we’ve gone somewhere, you’ve only been able to order burgers. And not even good burgers all the time, or ones that had lots of topping choices. Oh, and also some of those burgers have lettuce on them that you have to request be kept off. It gets boring after a while. It says that the other person doesn’t really give a damn if you have more than an option or two on a menu that could contain twenty-plus items.*

In some cases, my options have been less than even the most simple salad. I’ve been taken to a couple of places where my only options were sides (e.g. mashed potatoes, fries, corn, et cetera) and my dining companions seemed baffled that this wasn’t satisfactory to me. Sides are not the same as sitting down and ordering a meal with everyone. Think about how you would feel were the tables turned? Let’s say, for example, that you’re attending a company dinner. This is intended as a treat for everyone, but there’s nothing there you can eat but sides. (Which has happened to me in the past.) Does that seem fair? Let’s say there were other restaurants close by with a variety of options for everyone. Is it imperative that they go to the one that alienates someone in your group?

I know there will be people out there that read this and have “blah, blah, hippy-whiner” going through their heads. In fact, some of them might even be people I consider friends. In fact, in fact, (getting meta now) I’ve had plenty of friends make light of this topic when I’ve brought it up. I don’t think others always realize why this is something distressing to myself and other vegetarians. If I had an allergy to meat, no one would blink an eye, but because I’ve made a conscious decision to cut it out of my diet, it’s treated differently.

It would be silly for myself, or other vegetarians, to expect you to know what foods we like any more than you’d expect it of us in your case. I’ve had plenty of people say they don’t really know how to cook for a vegetarian or what we can eat. Here’s the beautiful part: you can ask us! We know that our eating habits aren’t the mainstream, and most of us will willingly work with you to find food accommodations that work for everyone involved. I’m personally willing to bring my own dishes and dinners to gatherings, and often times, the other people in attendance end up liking them too.

We’re not all the militant stereotype you often hear about. Sure, some of those folks are out there, but from my experience, it’s not the majority. Cut us some slack. There are loads of places that many of us can eat depending on our level of food lifestyle. (Admittedly, vegan is a bit harder.) I’ve been a vegetarian for over a year, and I still go to a lot of restaurants that have a satisfying selection of meals. All I ask if that you think twice about the people in your party before calling in your reservations to The All Meat Shack (all meat, all the time).

*If you read that paragraph and came away from it going: “What’s wrong with that? I love hamburgers!” Congratulations, you missed the fucking point.

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