Despite the rush of classes, stories and homework people need to take time to measure themselves from time to time. Or to relax with a drink.
Since I had done the former earlier in the week, I decided to tackle the latter Friday night. My friend Zach invited me to a “Come as your own stereotype” party and I figured why not?
First, let me explain that I was initially confused with the concept.
“Zach, do you mean come as my own stereotype or pick another one to pick on?”
“Your own.”
Now, before anyone gets too put off, let me be up front: I’m white, Zach’s white, and Zach’s friends hosting the party are everything else.
My friend Richard was hesitant.
“I don’t know if I can make it.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t decide what to go as.”
This is funny to his friends since he is Hispanic and gay. I did not suggest Ricky Martin. Even gay Hispanic people do not like Ricky Martin.
When I got to the party, Zach was in a business suit with grey coloring in his hair. He was “The Man.”
Nice.
I was in my work clothes: a button-down shirt and khakis. I was “The Manager.”
The party was well underway when I got there. Most everyone had a beverage in hand, the music was loud and the spread wasn’t bad, either. I got a Shiner and headed to a group of friends I knew to talk.
Around me were a variety of costumed people. Most kept in the theme of the party.
“Juan” had a three-foot wide sombrero, a Technicolor poncho and the worst fake moustache. His girlfriend wore an outfit reminiscent of a server at El Fenix – and a fake moustache.
“Mike” wore a wife-beater style undershirt, black working shoes, Dickies khakis pulled down revealing his boxers and a tattoo of Jesus drawn in erasable marker.
“David” wore a blue button-down shirt with a white collar and dress slacks. He had a large red dot drawn on his forehead with red lipstick. His date wore a sari and sash and a matching red dot.
There was even a couple who dressed up in headbands, goggles, knee high socks and tight shorts and T-shirts. They wore nametags that read “Ping” and “Pong.”
There were other costumes as well: a cell phone, a banana, and Justin Timberlake with a box over his crotch. (I did not ask to see inside the box, but I heard the giggles of those who did.)
As I looked around, I could tell that the people in street clothes tended to be pale like myself. I couldn’t help but wonder if this was because we were lazy or if we honestly didn’t know how to dress according to our own stereotype.
What else were there for the white guy stereotypes? I don’t think anyone would have felt comfortable in a hood. Pin slices of white bread or crackers to our shirts? Awkward at best.
And while everyone had a god time and laughed at themselves and the people around them, I couldn’t help but wonder why this group could do it and the real world seems to be too serious about their differences.
Maybe it was the alcohol.
Maybe it was that most everyone went to school together.
Maybe it was that all the people in attendance knew something than those people outside the four walls forget. Superficial differences are stupid. Characteristics such as decency, friendship and honor are more valuable.
And fake Hispanic moustaches are hilarious.