I don’t remember why, but my friend requested that I show up to her birthday celebration in the Santa costume I had worn for December’s SantaCon. So what other choice did I have than to stand on the corner of St. Mark’s Place, take off my bulky winter coat, put on a red jacket, pants, hat, and beard, stuff the jacket with my winter coat, and walk into a small, popular bar in the East Village? Maybe not wear the Santa suit, sure, I guess that’s the other choice. But what did I have to lose?
Let’s look objectively at my life right now: as of next month, I don’t have a place to live or a full-time job, not to mention a boyfriend or husband or random man to laugh with. Can you honestly say that dressing up as Santa in the middle of January and making a fool of myself by giving my friend the lap dance she had asked for is something to be ashamed of? No, you cannot. Because when you’re at this point in your life, having to pull down your beard to show the door guy that you’re the person on your driver’s license isn’t that embarrassing. And ensuring no man will give you a second glance at the bar because even once you’ve removed your costume, you’re still the girl who came in here wearing a Santa suit is no big deal. But proving you’re a loyal friend who does what she says she’ll do even if it makes her look crazy? That’s important to me.
If you’re lucky enough to be someone I care about, I’ll do anything for you. Maybe I’m not supposed to admit that because it makes me vulnerable and it puts me at risk for placing other people’s needs before my own. But I don’t care. I’d dress up as Santa again any day. Or whatever other fictional character you’d like.