CHRISTOPHER KENTLEY FIELD

Nightingale

There’s a comfort in the collective ritual, of the changing of one’s appearance. When one is wearing a costume, one can pretend to be another and revel in this new identity. If one were to be in a costume at any other time of the year, or by oneself, the costume takes on an isolating characteristic. It becomes perverse, or sad, or strange, or some mixture of all three.

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