Filed by Devon at 3:47 pm under Fightin' Words, The Arts

“There is something very sad about an empty dressing room. It’s like a discarded pair of underpants, which it resembles in a number of respects. It’s seen a lot of activity. It may even have witnessed excitement and a whole gamut of human passions. And now there’s nothing much left but a faint smell.” –Terry Pratchett, Soul Music

Hi. I’m your dresser.

I’ll be here, in this dark theatre, hours before you every day to prepare for your arrival and a clean, smooth show.

I’ll press your shirts, steam out wrinkles and remove stains from where you carelessly dropped food onto your self whilst in costume.

I’ll be here well after you leave, doing laundry and hanging up all of the items you shed during the course of the show.

I am educated, well-spoken, competent and capable. I will help you get dressed and back onstage as quickly as possible. I will grab your water for you. I will have a safety pin, a needle and thread, and a cough drop available should you or your costume need them.

I will do your laundry. I will have spare pantyhose. I will be prepared for nearly anything that comes my way backstage. And I will do it all quietly, with a smile on my face, and a positive outlook.

You are the one onstage, the performer, the “talent,” as they say. You might think of me as your support staff. In this vein of thought, and while we’re on the subject, let’s get some things straight right now:

Please take a minute to learn my name. We’ll be working together for a while — at a minimum, a couple of weeks–so I’m sure that you’ll want to know the name of the person who is zipping and unzipping you into and out of all those uncomfortable costumes you keep bitching about.
Please do not go on a diet. Yes, I know you want to get thinner/fit into your costumes better/move into the world of TV/film, etc., but really you’ll lose weight for a couple of weeks, make me alter all of your costumes accordingly, and then gain it all back, at which point I will again have to alter your costumes. And if you go on gaining, then I will have to find some sort of solution when your pants are too tight. And that means I’ll have to be underground, in the dark, in some dank joke of a wardrobe room, sewing instead of taking in some art at the Art Institute or some music at a festival. And that, my friend, makes an angry dresser.

Please do use the little zippered lingerie bag I have carefully labeled with your name. All that you have to do is unzip the bag; put your tights, socks, bra, underwear, etc. into the handy bag; and zip. Simple. Please do not leave your underwear on top of the bag so that I have to put it into the bag–I will be much happier for not touching the underwear that was so recently touching your skanky ass.

Please do use those pesky wire and plastic implements that hang on the rack behind your name, empty and longing. These are hangers. There are two basic types of hangers, and I’d like to stress the importance of learning what each type is designed to do. Hangers with paper on them, for instance, are not to be used for pants or skirts–these are what we refer to in the business as “shirt hangers.” Similarly, hangers with cardboard tubes along the bottom of the triangle are “pants hangers” and not to be used for shirt-hanging purposes. Hangers are your friends; they keep your costumes nice, but only–and I stress only–when your costumes are hung on them properly. This means sleeves are right side out, the collar is centered, the pants are folded and not flung over the hanger. Now, I understand that there are times when you have to rush to get onstage, and in those instances, it is perfectly acceptable to leave your costumes nicely draped over the back of your chair. However, needing to run up and sign autographs for your public is NOT an excuse to leave your laundry out of its bag and your costumes on the floor. This is disrespectful of your dresser, who is–shockingly–not your maid, your mother, or your personal assistant.

Please be careful of what you consume in costume. I know that you smokers gotta have that pre-show/intermission/post-show fix, but I don’t want your fix to become my new fix-it project. Holes and burns are hard to repair, and this makes one pissed off dresser. Additionally, please don’t eat saucy, stain-friendly foods, or drink cranberry juice for that UTI, or coffee to cure the last bits of that hangover while in costume. I understand you are hungry/your urethra is burning something fierce/you might fall asleep or throw up on stage, but take care of it before you put those glad rags on, honey, or you’ll be wearing it the whole show.

Please do note that while I am a skilled laundry wench, I do not work for free. The producers of the show compensate me for taking care of your costumes, maintaining and dressing the show, and making repairs. They do not, however, compensate me for laundering or repairing your personal clothes, nor do they compensate me for running your personal errands. Please take note of this next time you ask me to do something above and beyond, and make sure you have cash in hand. I am a skilled professional and should be paid accordingly.

Please don’t blame me when the cobbler/milliner/assistant costume designer cannot turn an alteration around instantly. They, too, are only human and are working as fast as they can. As such, please note that I cannot shit rubber-soled shoes/feathery, sequined hats/pants out of my ass; if I could, I so would not be working here.

Please don’t expect me to drop everything if the star needs to change his/her shoes. I am, as I believe I have said, a trained professional and I know how to prioritize.

You are not my children, and as such I have no problem with having favorites. I prefer dressing people who treat me like a human being, ask me how my day was, say “please” and “thank you,” and –this is important!– act like they genuinely mean it. You’re an actor, act like you care. If you want to be one of my favorites, this approach (or cash bribes) will move you up the list quickly.

Please note these standard procedures for a quick change: you will walk offstage to me; you will stand still; you may be asked to remove a particular article of clothing; you will do this quickly and quietly. I, in turn, will have everything set up the same way every time. We will do the same things in the same order every time. There will be less room for error if you stop running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Should a problem arise, say a zipper gets caught, a shirt gets stuck on your earring, etc., you will HOLD THE FUCK STILL, and I will calmly unzip and untangle, as need be. If you flail about in a blind panic, chances are you will end up onstage naked. Shut up, chill out, don’t move and I will get you dressed. Additionally, please remember that while you’ve just come from a brightly-lit stage into darkness and your eyes are adjusting, I have been backstage in the relative dark all day, and can see quite well. Please don’t go around asking the Assistant Stage Manager/Stage Manager/Director/Choreographer/Music Director, etc. for extra lights, as they actually hurt my eyes and make it harder for me to see. Consider that feeling when you leave a movie theatre while it’s still light outside, remember that hurty squinty feeling? Visualize it. Got it? Good. Now imagine I’ve just punched you in the face while you’re still adjusting to the light. Now try to do a quick change and see how you feel.

Please note: despite my title of “dresser,” you are not free to rummage through my drawers. I’m a married woman and you’re a sweaty pig. Hands off, asshole.

Please do not abuse your dresser. Do not throw things at me, do not shriek at me backstage and DO NOT treat me like I am beneath you. I am a human being and I have a lot of dignity and grace, even though you clearly do not. My mother always told me that you can tell a person’s true colors by the way they treat the people who serve them: waiters, house cleaners, manicurists, dressers. Despite said dignity and grace and a strong code of morals, I have no qualms about leaving you high and dry next time you need something special done if you treat me like a lower class citizen. I am an educated woman, honey, and you do not want to know some of the things I’ve picked up over the years from other people in my position dealing with your ilk. Be nice, or you may discover pins left–accidentally, of course–in the crotch seam of your pants or your armpit, or the collar of your shirt from that last repair I had to do. Or you may discover that you’re feeling fatter, your clothes are snugger than they once were– the real question you should ask yourself is, “Did I gain weight? Or did my dresser just take this dress in again?” I’ll never tell. And if I have to wash your panties, you should take pains to be kind to me; I have a large can of industrial strength spray starch that is just itching to get sprayed. Do yourself a favor and BE NICE.

Please do tip your dresser. I am providing a service, and in this country, we tip good service. You are making a lot more than I am and I’m doing an awful lot of dirty work so that you can go on stage and look your best. For the most part I will never complain about what I do within earshot of you. I will be cheery and friendly and professional, and gracious in your presence. This is worthy of some small bit of compensation. And if I’m running errands and you need something, that falls under this category too. Tip me for grabbing that paper for you, and I’ll try my damndest not to spit in your water.

That is all.