In praise of Symposia

I have resolved to watch Hedwig and the Angry Inch again. This particular compulsion struck me during a beer-battered conversation about Plato’s Symposium. The subject of Aristophanes’ speech on Love was raised, and my friend instantly mentioned the Hedwig animation of the “Origin of Love”. So, of course, I have become obsessed with it once again; this obsession of mine rears it’s beautiful Hed every couple of years or so, and cannot be laid to rest until I have gleefully re-watched the film. Here is a tiny wee taste of the awesomeness of Hedwig:

As I watched every last snippet of this movie that I could find on Youtube, the thought came to me that Hedwig always looks like she’s reveling in femininity. She bathes in it, twists it round her tongue and pops it back out tied in a silky, cherry-red bow. Why don’t I enjoy my femininity that much? In that instant, the need to tart myself up suddenly overwhelmed me. Femininity is something put on. You wear it, you have to make it up and wrap it around you. Fortunately, it’s also something you can strip off, and leave abandoned on the bathroom floor. Some women* never take it off, like those 1950’s housewives who wear mascara to bed and wake up halfway through the night to reapply.

Now, I know that I could never be one of those- it just simply is not in me. However, I have decided to set aside one day this summer to squeeze myself into a gown (something I will have to willfully acquire from a nearby Salvation Army, for I have woefully never been a bride’s maid), strap myself into a pair of patent-leather stiletto heels, lather my face in colourful creams and powders, spritz slightly too smelly flowery perfume over my body, paint my nails – those on toes included- and tease my hair up into some ungodly configuration held up by putty, hairspray and a miracle. I’m getting tired already, just thinking about all it takes to perform this type of hyper-femininity. Phew – methinks it will take the better part of the day to assemble all the pieces.

Um….. on second thought, maybe I won’t.

*by women, I mean anyone who either identifies as or dresses up as one every once in a while (and not just on Halloween