Anyone whose been to a Renaissance Festival has certainly seen the wenches. They're a staple of festival life and pretty hard to miss, due in part to the popularity of low-cut bodices and corsets. According to Pam Taylor, owner of a shop called Bullseye Designs, bodices are by far the best-seller. "If it weren't for breasts, I'd be out of business," she says.

The breast-baring styles of Ren Faires gives the fantasy world a strange feel, according to Rebecca Bengal, who chronicled her visit to the Maryland Renaissance Festival for the Washington Post. Bengal points out that the surreal world of the Ren Faire can often come to feel like walking through a beer ad that has been hastily dressed in medieval garb:

For men, a reimagined Renaissance era becomes more quintessentially American than English, a little like wandering around in a beer commercial: corny jokes, scantily clad women and, of course, beer. For the Renaissance wenches, as Madam Flo said, it is a little different: a chance to exhibit a part of themselves that they are unable to display in normal life.

While there are many different reasons one may want to dress up in a bodice decorated with mice and fox tails, some women are just happy to have a socially acceptable place where their cups can overfloweth. College student Todd Chappell helpfully explains why this is so great for the women folk: "These are women who are a little larger than most, but they come to the festival, and they feel beautiful."

Chappell's statement about the wenches of the Faire reflects both sides of the bodice-schism. On one hand, many women do appreciate the chance to let it all hang out, but on the other, many of them don't appreciate being constantly ogled by men like Chappell. The previously-mentioned Madam Flo finds the sexy outfits straight up empowering. "Here I get to let my hair down, figuratively, and actually I think people just take it as mutual flirting. They don't think, 'Oh, my God, I'm going to bed with her tonight,'" she says. "Back in the Renaissance, we would have been barmaids or trollops or whatever. We're reclaiming the name." I think many of us have, at some point or another, enjoyed dressing up in costume for exactly this reason. Ren Faires, like Halloween, give many women a chance to be much more overtly sexual than they normally would feel comfortable, and because of its status as a sort of suspended reality, judgment is often suspended as well.

But the feeling of safety may be as much of an illusion as the rest of the event. One woman admits that she no longer dresses up for the festival because of all the unwanted attention she received. "I got too many comments, things that were inappropriate, beyond what is okay in everyday life." Some men take the Ren Faire as an opportunity to go much further than they normally would. She continues, "I feel the wench thing gives some people a license to be creepy—or at least they think it does." Which is, I suppose, a sort of unsurprising problem. Ren Faires provide a temporary space in which people can act out certain fantasies, and for an unfortunate number of men, the cave-man mentality fits all too well with the escapist theme.

Long Day's Journey.... Into Knights [Washington Post]
The Lure Of The Renaissance (photo gallery) [Washington Post]

First of all, any kind of vintage clothing show weakens your defenses. In fact, I normally avoid them for just this reason: too much stuff, too many choices, and after a lifetime of thrifting the embarrassment of riches feels, well, embarrassing. And so I wandered the aisles, clutching a blue mohair turban, surrounded by eccentrics, and wishing I'd chosen to spend my Saturday a different way.

A ratty parasol caught my eye and I wandered over to inspect it. That's when she pounced.
"Oh my God," she said. "You have to try this dress. Will you try this dress? Look, David, she can totally fit into the dress. We've been waiting someone to try this dress."

She held up the dress. It was indescribable, although if I were to give it a shot, I'd have to say a 50's formal made in the image of a slutty shepherdess costume. With a corset. In gingham. I did not want to try it on. But I understood their dilemma; it was made for a short woman and if nothing else, I am short. Even so, I eyed it uneasily. "You don't have a dressing room," I said.

"You can put it on behind this," she said. Indicating a kimono hanging nearby. The kimono did not provide adequate cover, although given the population of the assemblage this was less of a concern than it might have been otherwise. I wrestled myself into the dress. It was tight; I had to suck in hard while the woman pulled the zipper and wrenched the corset strings cruelly tight. I stepped out and looked at myself.

The result was shocking. There I was, in a miniscule 50's formal slutty-shepherdess costume. Ruffles covered the bust. The skirt parted to reveal more ruffles, Marie Antoinette-style. Either some mid-century tramp had worn this for a theme dance or Mildred Baker, "Newberry Street" (sic), Boston, had let her creativity run wild on this one. I was speechless, appalled.

The booth's proprietors were also speechless, but apparently with awe. "It's perfect," breathed the woman - who, I should perhaps add, was wearing a men's sailor suit. "It was made for you," said her selling partner with conviction. "All you need are some hot boots." I did not find this reassuring. Then another woman came up. "Oh. My. God." She said. "That is amazing. You have to get it. You're getting it, right? Karen, come here. You have to see this." Karen approached. She was wearing a top hat. She, too, gasped in admiration. "If I could, I would wear that every day," she said.

I gave myself another look. Maybe it did look pretty good! "Well," I said uncertainly, "I don't have a Halloween costume..."

"Halloween!" gasped the first woman, as if I'd uttered a blasphemy. "You wouldn't waste that on Halloween! You could wear that anywhere!"

"It is unique..." I said.

"Oh, you won't find another one like that," said the proprietor confidently. "It was waiting for you."

"You could wear that to the clubs," said the "hot boots" guy. Never mind that I'd never been to "the clubs."

"It was made for you," repeated the owner. "I could do -" and she mentioned a figure I wouldn't normally have paid for something I liked, let alone this monstrosity. And yet, I felt my resolve weakening. Normally I am impervious to the hard sell, and my time in retail has given me nerve and cunning of my own. But they were so excited! Maybe it was the bright lights, the exhaustion, the row of letterman's sweaters and charm bracelets, but somehow I was starting to feel that I needed the dress.

"If you don't buy it," said one of the random women dramatically, "I will be devastated." She reached out and adjusted my breasts in the corset, then stepped back critically to survey her work. "Yes," she declared. "You need it."

"I should see what my friend thinks..." I said. I found my phone and tried her. She didn't pick up.

"We take credit cards," said the owner. She knocked off another five dollars.

"I'm just not sure it's me..." I tried.

"Are you kidding?" said one of them. "You are owning that! That could be from a fabulous designer with vintage edge." Her friend nodded enthusiastically. "A couturier," she added.

"Okay," I said defeated, with the feeling of making a mistake but buoyed by their evident excitement. "I'll do it. I'll do it." There was a collective cheer. My heart sank further as they ran the card and bundled the dress into a paper bag. "I am so glad," said one of the women, who was walking on. I gave her a wan smile. I was starting to feel the sick, unwholesome sensation on having spent too much, and not feeling good about it.

I hid the dress from my friend, whom I found examining a rack of scarves. Every time I felt the rustle of its crinoline my heart sank. Later I denied myself a delicious-looking piece of cake and a pair of kid gloves because I'd spent so much on the horrible slutty milkmaid dress.

When my boyfriend came home that night he found me staring blankly at Mother Angelica and clutching the dress in my hands.

"What's that?" he said carefully.

"Some old eccentrics pressured me into it," I said glumly, and held it up for his inspection. There was a long silence.

"Can you return it?" he said.

"No!" I wailed. "The show's over and they've gone back to Ohio! And I'd wear it for Halloween but I can't tell what it is! The only thing I can think of is how in Georgette Heyer novels there are always lots of trampy shepherdesses at masquerades, so maybe...I can be a 19th-Century demi-mondaine at a masquerade?"

He agreed this was a viable plan, but I could see he was being kind and anyway, knew that I'd been planning to dress as Norma Desmond.

I went to sleep, disconsolate. When I woke up, it was a new day - then I saw the dress hanging on the closet door, even worse than I remembered. But in the night, I had had a revelation. I would, I decided, do a high-concept costume. I would go as Folly. Because I would stand as a walking reminder to all who saw me. You really have to see it on - but you're not going to!

The classically-costumed, tulle-encircled, Degas-immortalized Odette may be on the wane. While the tutu's old-fashioned aesthetic is an obvious bane to the forward-thinking company director, the garment presents practical problems that are a real concern, especially in this strapped economic climate. The tutu started as a means of freeing a dancer's legs from the constrictions of long skirts, and contributed to dancers' reputations as scandalous deminmondaines, but today everything about them feels old-fashioned. Says the Guardian, each custom-made tutu involves

12 layers of net skirt stiffened with steel hoops, panelled overskirts layered with embroidery, sequins and lace, delicately boned and decorated bodices...Too short and tight and the dancer cannot move; too roomy and a ballerina spinning through 32 fouettés may feel as though her tutu is about to orbit around her.

Besides being costly and labor-intensive - it's increasingly difficult to find skilled tutu-makers willing to put in the work - the garment is hard for the dancers to navigate. A ballerina describes it as "It's like wearing a big plate...and sometimes it feels very dangerous — because you can't see your feet" — another remembers catching her tiara in her skirt, while male dancers complain about the difficulties of dancing around the skirt's width and the chafing of harsh tulle against skin when they lift a partner. "It's like dancing with two people," says one.

However, some feel that the iconic garment will always have a place on the stage, as well as our imaginations: says one principle dancer, "Obviously, it makes me feel glamorous and feminine, but it also affects the way I work, the articulation of the port de bras and legs. I like the feeling of being very corseted by the bodice, and being very conscious of the angle of the skirt. When you're on stage with all that sparkle, it heightens everything." Many an aspiring Angelina — who wouldn't be caught dead in anything streamlined or conceptual — would agree.

Here's a great accompanying video: The Trouble With Tutus

'It's Like Wearing A Big Plate' [Guardian]

(Click on any image to begin gallery view)

Gallery continues here, here and here!

The Good:
Sure, it's totally pre-fab and DVF kinda already took the steam out of Wonder Woman, but Kim Kardashian actually makes a really good 1964 Girl Group Singer-cum-super-heroine! (That last part was probably unintentional.)


I'm guessing Lydia Hearst Shaw is supposed to be Poison Ivy, but I choose to believe she's "Absinthe," which would be awesome.


Obviously Lara Spencer's bumblebee is lame, but Kris Jenner's manic — what? S&M officer Weimar cabaret performer? — is so bizarre that I'm adding an automatic 200 points.(L.A.)


Sexy girl scout is perhaps not the most original idea, but Ashlane Gorse gets points for wearing some of her own clothes, which qualifies as major creativity, unfortunately. (L.A.)




The Bad:
Lydia's slutty newspaperwoman would be lame even had it not just come out that she didn't even write her Page Six column!


Richie Rich is here because he always kind of looks like this and we hold him to a different standard of fab.


Again, big ups to the homemade costume, but Derek Hough's Bon Jovi still looks like every frat boy's last-minute effort. (L.A.)


If this is Lance Bass' actual robe, then, lazy. If not, lame costume. Or am I being mean? (L.A.)


Prefab + Cute = Total BS. Fail, Kym Johnson . (L.A.)


I've always felt like, if you're gonna do a costume, commit! Cheryl Burke's WAC (or whatever) in cocktail attire offends me as someone who's gone as a WAVE before in full uniform. (L.A.)

[Images via Getty]

There's the Slutoween, um, slut. Take a word, add a "slutty" and you've got a costume, as we know from Mean Girls. This is obviously the lamest form of costume — although I should say I seriously considered going as a Slutty Montauk Creature this year. You've got couples in costumes; lame, conceptual, last-minute costumes; historical outfits; those who have weirdly good, costume-shop style costumes; the friend who wears the same thing every year (apparently Dodai is a perennial Dorothy Gayle); the group costume that makes no sense unless everyone is standing together; the silly costume; the cutesy costume; the scary costume; and the "topical": just a hunch, but we're thinking variations on Sarah Palin will be this year's Amy Winehouse.

For my part, I'm a proponent of the obscure costume, which maybe one person identifies correctly all evening — even though to me it always seems completely obvious. To this end, I have gone as a circa-68 Gloria Steinem, Joan Didion and Linda Pugasch. Costumes that allow me to wear my glasses are a plus. Despite passionate appeals for the Duke and Duchess of Windsor and the Fitzgeralds, I have never successfully lobbied a boyfriend into a cutesy twofer.

Growing up, Halloween was a Big Deal in my house. In fact — maybe because my parents are of different faiths, rendering a lot of our observances literally half-assed — it was the one thing we really did up. Halloween meant an elaborately decorated house, hundreds of guests, two six-foot hero sandwiches whose dramatic delivery was a high point, marathon trick-or-treating, and, of course, elaborate costumes. My parents were not craftsy types who could whip things up the way some of my friends' moms did — but they were very supportive. (Luckily an artistic aunt did create one of the best World War I nurse's outfits ever.) My first Halloween was a humiliation. Being two, I was dressed as a round pumpkin, my suit stuffed with balloons. I still remember the chagrin of having to parade next to a glamorous four-year-old friend who was dressed as Faye Wray in King Kong. I vowed that never again would I submit to such indignity, and there followed a parade of fairies, cowgirls and, most memorably, Marie Antoinette (I was five.)

My brother and I never lost the bug. Last year (I was a Son of Sam victim) I ran across my brother, dressed in adult-sized footie pajamas unzipped halfway down his chest, unshaven, with a cigarette dangling from his lips.

"What?" he said laconically. "I'm a sexy baby."

It seems like Halloween has reached a fever pitch, like not dressing up is completely out of the question — whether or not you have plans. Perhaps in a Slutoween backlash, I have noticed a lot of friends are doing kid-style costumes. One is going as an ice cream sandwich. Maria reports that, like toddler Sadie, she will be a pumpkin — "not a 'sexy' pumpkin but a big, round and stuffed pumpkin with a happy face" — and a third lady is dressing as a (male) minotaur. Natch a few will be Palins. One is going as the Recession. One as Lehman Brothers. Dodai, one assumes, will be Dorothy.

People like to spout nonsense about costumes and masks and being someone different for a night, but it's less about pretending to be someone else than about you — obviously — choosing to pretend to be. That's how it is for kids, after all, even if the costumes have gotten crummier than I choose to believe they were 20 years ago. Last year I saw a little girl, four or five, dressed like a policewoman. She even had her name, Gomez, written on her little plastic badge. "Looking good, Officer!" called a mounted cop who was riding by. (Yeah, it was like four p.m.) The little girl's face lit up with pleasure; she was thrilled. Just then a Slutoween cop passed by in vinyl and fishnets (she was with a slutty nurse and a slutty angel.) The child's eyes widened; in confusion or admiration, I'm not sure. The whole vignette seemed like a pretty good illustration of modern all hollow's.

As to me, I'm currently deciding between Bella Abzug and Elizabeth Taylor in Butterfield 8. Aging liberal icon or be-furred sex symbol? On Halloween, after all, we get to decide. And yes, sometimes it's a letdown.

Related: Sexy Halloween Costumes...For Little Girls? [LA Times]

Earlier: Maybe The Best Way To Handle Slutoween Is To Just Go With It

Because nothing says, "I am sweet and also awesome," like a Giant Hostess Cupcake. Another bonus? This looks like it will keep you crazy warm on a cold October night.

Recession chic! The Ramen Noodle gang looks thrifty and delicious.

Seriously, you guys? If someone came to my house with this dog, I would dump my entire bowl of trick or treat candies into their pillowcase, no questions asked.

Oh, I'm sorry, you're celebrating Slutoween? Well tough luck, son, because my friend here has decided that THIS party is going to be 100% Klassy.

This is absolutely the best costume I have seen in years. Be sure to check out the site for a step-by-step report on how the creator brought his Dwight Schrute Bobblehead to life.

What about you? Any creative costumes planned for this year?

Incredible Stuff I Made: Dwight Schrute Bobblehead Costume [Cockeyed]
Top Ten Cutest Halloween Food Costumes [Endless Simmer]
Top Ten Weirdest Food Halloween Costumes [Endless Simmer]

• A man in Chicago painted a nude portrait of Sarah Palin to be hung in his wife's dive bar because he finds the Republican VP nominee "bizarrely fascinating." • The Chinese government says that they have detained 22 people in a suspected underground network of milk-tainters in connection with the melamine-tainting crisis. • According to a UK study of 1,000 men, boys are impacted and given confidence by male primary school teachers, who account for only 13% of primary teachers in England. • A man jumped into a Florida marina to punch a shark that had bitten his 14-pound rat terrier. The dog is recovering and is not critically injured. • A police officer was surprised to find a mountain lion in a woman's yard in Wyoming after 911 dispatchers interpreted her call about a "big cat" as involving a domesticated feline. •