The Pikachu Costume: Part 2

Will staple girl prevail?

Greetings! You are now reading Part 2 of The Pikachu Costume. Haven’t had the chance to read Part 1 yet? You can find it here. This essay is longer than its predecessor, so I suggest you make yourself a nice cup of tea, get comfy, and enjoy the show.

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When people ask me about my astrological sign, I always reply Virgo. Technically, this is true. Who else, if not a Virgo, would throw herself into the meticulous operation of making a Halloween costume from scratch despite not knowing how to sew? A Virgo will spend hours on Youtube to learn how to work a sewing machine. A Virgo will read blogs to understand the universal language of patterns. A Virgo will devise a plan to ensure her kid gets that Pikachu costume in time for Halloween - because guess what - it’s less than two weeks away. That means everything else on the schedule must go, including a novel project. A Virgo will make a practice costume first and learn from her mistakes to ensure the official version is PERFECT.

How exhausting it is to be a Virgo.

I’m sure I’m not the only one who deep dived into astrology and tarot cards to cope with the pandemic, so you may already know there’s such a thing as Sun, Moon and Rising signs. Your Sun reflects your ego. Your Moon reflects your emotions and the deepest parts of your inner self. Your Rising means how others view you, or how you choose to present yourself to the world.

My Moon is in Leo. This means I’m dramatic, theatrical, creative, bossy and like attention. I agree. I’m a Sagittarius Rising, but as a recovering people pleaser, I try to not worry about what people think of me. I have no clue what Sagittarius Rising means. 

And since my Moon is in Leo, it means I can’t shut up about what’s going on in my life. I told everybody about the Pikachu Project. I posted about it on Instagram. I told my family and friends. My neighbours. My writing community. Parents in the pick-up line at school. “Oh my God,” I’d tell them. “Can you believe what I got myself into?” Of course I knew what I got myself into. I was simply raising the stakes. I had to create a situation where the possibility of public failure loomed over my endeavour.

In other words, I was putting on a show. And any good showrunner knows the main character must face inner and outer obstacles on their journey. I was creating an epic story where a millennial mother, who once used a stapler to fix a hole in her shirt, would do everything it took to make a Halloween costume for her kid. She had no sewing machine. She had no talent. She had no knowledge. At least her Sun was in Virgo.

The millennial mother had allies to help her along the way: first, the patient woman at the fabric shop on Saint-Hubert Street. She listened to the mother’s ramblings, and didn’t dissuade her from her mission. On the contrary, she explained how to transform a rabbit costume into the beloved Pokémon. There was the generous mom-friend who lent her a sewing machine and a bag full of thread. How could she forget the dear friend who came to her apartment on a Friday night to help lay out, pin and cut the fabric according to instructions? Even though the millennial mother had studied the Internet, she still found sewing patterns ridiculously difficult to understand. And last, but not least, the kind housekeeper who noticed the mother struggling with the machine and taught her how to sew a straight line. She made the mother practice on paper first, and when the lines were deemed satisfactory, the mother graduated to fabric. How grateful she was for these women.

She worked hard, day after day, to sew the pattern pieces together. She’d drop off her six-year-old at school, then return home to focus on the costume until it was time for pick-up. She wore her black denim overalls, figuring they’d give her the grit and strength to hunch over a sewing machine all day. She made many mistakes with the practice costume. Buttons, zipper or velcro? She had no idea. She had to redo the ears, since they were reminiscent of male reproductive organs. That’s when she realized she had to return to Saint-Hubert Street to purchase a seam ripper. She listened to “My Family,” the main theme from The Addams Family 2 soundtrack, on repeat. What did “lunch” even mean? She had no time for that. She sacrificed the sofa’s silver throw cushions, ripping them open to collect the synthetic filling. 

“How could you?” her teary-eyed child said after noticing the lifeless throw cushions on the floor.

“It had to be done,” the mother replied, her eyes resembling those of Jack Nicholson in The Shining. Was she transforming into Jack Nicholson? 

All she could think and dream about was the Pikachu costume. It consumed her. It took over her life. Her neck was sore. Her shoulder blades were tense. What did she get herself into? Would this special kind of hell ever end? 

And then something happened. She stopped struggling. Something inside the mother clicked. Sewing became meditative. She was able to relax and think about her life as she fetched a new bobbin and threaded the sewing machine like a pro. She realized how much work went into making clothes. How valuable this skill was. It was a life skill. She thought about all the fast-fashion stores, which sent shivers down her spine. Hey… what if she made her own clothes from now on? She scoured the Internet and found beautiful patterns. Yes, she thought. This would be her new obsession. Forget writing. She was going to make clothes from now on.

The mother finished the costume on October 30th. Her child loved it and looked cute as a button while parading it around the house. A triumph. She had actually pulled it off. The other parents cheered upon seeing the Pikachu child at school drop-off the next day. How she enjoyed the standing ovation. How proud she was of herself. How thankful she was for all the help and encouragement she received.

Suddenly, it was November. Halloween was a thing of the past. The curtains came down. The show was over. The Virgo Sun-Leo Moon mother emerged from the foggy haze of costume-making obsession. She felt like Dorothy, stepping into a Technicolor world. Wait, what? There was more to life than a Pokémon costume? Yes. She had neglected her art, she had neglected her body. The mother returned the sewing machine to her mom-friend. It was for the best.

… and SCENE!

Rabbit holes. I enjoy my deep dives into the unknown. Sometimes I forget about boundaries, and let the deep dives consume my life. I always manage to pull myself out, though. On the other hand, I learn so much. I grow. I experience things so I can write about them later. Staple girl made a Halloween costume from scratch! Nowadays, when my kid asks me to fix the tear in his navy jogging pants, I do it in a heartbeat.

I was sitting at my desk a couple of weeks ago working on my novel. You know, the novel I had completely put aside over a year ago to dedicate my life to Pokémons.

“Mom?” my now seven-year-old said as he approached my desk. “I want to be a wizard for Halloween.”

“Cool idea!” I clicked Ctrl+S and turned to my kid, smiling.

“Can you make me another costume this year?” I felt the wheels turning in my brain. A wizard…. Yes, that sounded easy. All I had to do was make a cape. Maybe I could buy black velvet material. Oh! And gold fabric to adorn the cape with hand-sewn moons and stars. Wait a minute. Just wait. I know myself. I know myself very well. And this theatrical Leo/perfectionist Virgo was already busy making something else this year.

“I’m sorry,” I replied. “But I can’t do it. How about we order one?” My kid’s eyes lit up, excited by the thought of online shopping.

“Remember,” I added. “Once the costume is ordered, that’s it. You can’t change your mind.”