This past weekend, my husband and I attended an annual Christmas party event that included dressing asking attendees to dress up as pirates. Those of you that know hubby also know that he’s got a penchant for costumes. I don’t.

He finds dressing up in costumes fun. He’s been a pirate a few times, now. Over the years, at various events, he’s been Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, a beer keg, and most often, a leprechaun. There are probably a few costumes I’m missing, and I’m sure he’ll fill me in after he reads my blog. 😉

Aaaargh!

As for me, though — I used to wear costumes on occasion. I once won a costume contest at work, dressed as Mae West, back when I had curves in the right places. I also used to be a member of a craft guild, and historical dress at events was encouraged. As someone who was in band for many years growing up, I also wore tuxes, black dresses, and a variety of band uniforms; believe me, uniform makers back in the 70’s and 80’s didn’t make good options for those of us with curves, and back then, I was a normal size.

Now, though? Hubby kept after me about dressing up as a pirate, and I finally made my own secret plans. I went as outrageous as possible, and told him flat out that if no one recognized me, I had accomplished my goals. As it was, there were a few folks who didn’t, so I considered it a success.

On the way to the party, hubby asked me why it is that I don’t like dressing up in costume. The simple answer is that when you spend much of your life as the largest person in any room, the last thing you want to do is attract attention, even if that reason is no longer for being large. Having that attention makes me uncomfortable.

Being very large brings with it both attention for being large, with (hopefully!) silent judgment, and a certain level of invisibility once people have dismissed you. I would prefer to exist somewhere in the middle: noticed without judgment, existing without disappearing afterward. I’d simply prefer not to draw attention; in my mind, attention and judgment still go hand in hand.

I’ll admit I had fun with the costume. (Note to husband: this does not mean I’ll do it again!)

On a related note, I’ve been attending this particular party for four years, now. The first year, I ambled in at nearly my full weight, and sat in a corner; I didn’t know anyone because we were new members. Year 2, I was in a travel wheelchair so we could move around without me imposing a limit. Year 3 — I had progressed to a cane and was able to get around on my own; I even danced a little bit. And Year 4, this past Saturday, I entered the doors with no cane, pulled my own weight, danced, and even wore low heels. Who knows what next year will bring?