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Habits

We think of everyone as having habits and we think of monks and nuns wearing them. We think of performers, whether in Shakespeare’s plays or in the circus, wearing costumes. Costumes indicate a role, or something other than what one really is, and a habit (presumably) indicates something that a person truly is, the monk and nun having chosen to serve the spirit every instant of their lives.

The habits of religious orders are distinctive. The clothing of monks and nuns declares them to be different from other workers, communities, and mini-cultures, who wear everyman and everywoman attire, like suits, or jeans and a T-shirt, or any of the wide array of casual or semi-dressy outfits that we see in the workplace and on the street. Of course, the iconic clothing of religious orders is long, flowing, and supremely simple, and that clothing is worn every day.

Not long ago I was talking with a fellow performance artist who used to be a monk and he suggested, “What if you wore every day what you wear in performance?” We were talking about performance gear as habit, in other words, as a serious spiritual choice, neither as a fashion decision nor even as an aesthetic one, and his idea, elaborated, was this: what if a performance artist wore her costume as a habit while going about her daily business, indoors and out?

“You’re always in a costume!” asserted a male friend of mine several years ago when we were standing on a New York subway platform. What brought on that comment I don’t remember, but it surprised me, because from my perspective I just get dressed. Certainly I like clothes and choose them carefully when shopping or from my closet, but I’d never thought of my everyday apparel as costume. My performance habit, such as higher  heels than usual or naked feet, bare arms and legs, or translucent fabric without underwear, is more revealing and less easy to live in on the street than is my regular clothing. In performance habit, I imagine that I’d be uncomfortable living my ordinary life in Tucson, visiting New York or the Missouri Ozarks, where my sister lives, and walking long distances or in rain or wintry weather, because the habit would appear extreme, ostentatious, or way too partyish in everyday public life. Yet, I hear my performance friend’s idea . . . not as a challenge but as an invitation.

• November 11, 2009
• Filed under: Body and mind, My work, Pleasure
• Comments 0