A couple years ago, my wife's friend invited us to a steampunk ball up in Salt Lake City. We're definitely geeks, and we love to cosplay, so the invitation was right up our alley. What we didn't have, though, were costumes to go along with the theme of the dance. So, over the course of about a week, my wife whipped up some quick steampunk-esque costumes. They were quasi-Victorian, had some gears on them, and looked fine and fun. They weren't the most impressive things at the ball, by any stretch, but they did the job.
One thing about my wife: When she gets an idea in her head, she wants it done and she wants it done right. Even though we had fun at the ball, she wanted to improve the costumes, to make them more noticeable and eye-catching. The best way to do that was to become more authentically steampunk.
I happened across Steampunk'd on Netflix, which we then began to watch together in the evenings, after the boys were tucked in bed. We're not steampunk connoisseurs, nor do we watch a lot of reality TV, so the series worked well for us. The big takeaway from it, however, had to be the fact that steampunk is a character-based genre. That is, there is a strong, noticeable aesthetic, but there isn't an iconic person that a cosplayer can dress up as. Instead, people interested in being a part of the group are encouraged to come up with their own characters and invent their own worlds. This storytelling aspect, mixed with the costuming vein, makes it a perfect fit for me and my wife. In fact, during NaNoWriMo 2016, I wrote a 51,000 word novella for Gayle about the characters we cosplay as. I invented some important things that she could incorporate into the style and appearance of our costumes, gave both our characters some interesting quirks and personalities (though I worked harder on Gayle's character than mine, in part because I felt really Marty Sue writing about my character whom I was supposed to embody). The whole thing was very enjoyable, and we've been working on our costumes and characters off and on ever since.
What interests me about steampunk, though, is that it's this weird, non-pervy iteration of Justice Stewart's definition of obscenity: You know it's steampunk when you see it. But it's not easy to define the movement, or why it has the appeal that it does.
My favorite definition, given by Graham Bradley at the LTUE conference I attended, was that of "retro-futurism"; that is, steampunk is the idea of reappropriating the past (retro) and spinning it into a timeline of history that never happened (futurism). Often, that means pointing at the potential of steam power over petroleum power. As a result, the Victorian, Industrial Revolution aesthetic--heavily modified and romanticized--becomes the go-to visual signifier.
The worlds of possibility--with an implicit expectation of historical research--really work for me, and I find it a fun diversion. Some people find it a lifestyle, with their jobs either being within the steampunk framework, or their jobs are done to support it. For me and my wife, we like how it brings us together in a common creative pursuit, as well as relatively easy costumes to wear to conventions. It's win-win.
One thing about my wife: When she gets an idea in her head, she wants it done and she wants it done right. Even though we had fun at the ball, she wanted to improve the costumes, to make them more noticeable and eye-catching. The best way to do that was to become more authentically steampunk.
I happened across Steampunk'd on Netflix, which we then began to watch together in the evenings, after the boys were tucked in bed. We're not steampunk connoisseurs, nor do we watch a lot of reality TV, so the series worked well for us. The big takeaway from it, however, had to be the fact that steampunk is a character-based genre. That is, there is a strong, noticeable aesthetic, but there isn't an iconic person that a cosplayer can dress up as. Instead, people interested in being a part of the group are encouraged to come up with their own characters and invent their own worlds. This storytelling aspect, mixed with the costuming vein, makes it a perfect fit for me and my wife. In fact, during NaNoWriMo 2016, I wrote a 51,000 word novella for Gayle about the characters we cosplay as. I invented some important things that she could incorporate into the style and appearance of our costumes, gave both our characters some interesting quirks and personalities (though I worked harder on Gayle's character than mine, in part because I felt really Marty Sue writing about my character whom I was supposed to embody). The whole thing was very enjoyable, and we've been working on our costumes and characters off and on ever since.
What interests me about steampunk, though, is that it's this weird, non-pervy iteration of Justice Stewart's definition of obscenity: You know it's steampunk when you see it. But it's not easy to define the movement, or why it has the appeal that it does.
My favorite definition, given by Graham Bradley at the LTUE conference I attended, was that of "retro-futurism"; that is, steampunk is the idea of reappropriating the past (retro) and spinning it into a timeline of history that never happened (futurism). Often, that means pointing at the potential of steam power over petroleum power. As a result, the Victorian, Industrial Revolution aesthetic--heavily modified and romanticized--becomes the go-to visual signifier.
The worlds of possibility--with an implicit expectation of historical research--really work for me, and I find it a fun diversion. Some people find it a lifestyle, with their jobs either being within the steampunk framework, or their jobs are done to support it. For me and my wife, we like how it brings us together in a common creative pursuit, as well as relatively easy costumes to wear to conventions. It's win-win.