Apparently, if you run a ballet studio people do something similar. But with costumes. "You teach ballet! Wow! You won't believe it but my second cousin's great aunt's neighbor's niece used to do jazz and tap and somehow I ended up with an entire storage unit full of AMAZING costumes!" Your gratitude is assumed.
In preparation for the studio's big Summer recital I am going through tupperware bin upon tupperware bin full of random tutus, leotards, and other costume bits and bobs that somehow ended up in the studio's possession, weeding out the ones that are beyond hope and fixing the most egregious flaws in the remainder. I have spent a couple of weeks, now, going through these, and it's totally awesome, to be quite honest. Especially because I get to remove/trash the ones I would rather burn than work on (a rare and empowering experience in the world of costuming!). Below I present some of the
Now. Some of them aren't so bad. This one, for instance, could use to be soaked in Oxiclean for a month and gone over with a steamer to remove wrinkles, but you can see what they were getting at, anyway:
I'm thinking Tinkerbell.
And there are things that... well. They aren't really SO bad. Not when you consider that they must have come from 1987:
I mean, yes, it's ugly. But check out that sky-high French-cut leg opening we've got going on, here. You
No. You can't.
Of course, then there are things for which words seem inadequate:
It inspires one to poetry, does it not?
The neon pink fringe
it lay-th below
acid green sequins,
And then this happened:
I want to point out that this neon yellow and pink
leopard print unitard, here, is an ADULT size small.
Adult. I am just going to leave you with that.