The Once and Future Wizard

ConnectiCon was a very special weekend.  Lots of great stuff happened, like being surprised by my wife (who had told me she was staying home this year).  The Death Match was a thunderous, incredible success.  I caught up with some old friends and made some new ones.  ConnectiCon never fails to impress and uplift me.

I also did something special for myself.  It was a small gesture that I didn’t really mention to anyone, but now that the weekend is over I’ll explain what I did.

I used to host local burlesque shows for a troupe I belonged to under the name THE WIZARD.  (It’s in all-caps because I always dramatically proclaimed my name.)  My costume was simple: a pair of pants and a kimono-like robe, both with cosmic patterns.  It became my alter ego when I was on stage, and it became strongly linked to my passion for live performance.  Being THE WIZARD was a lot of fun… until I had a very bad falling-out with that same burlesque troupe, whose members not only kicked me out but worked to ensure I would be unable to perform in other local shows.  The details of that long story don’t belong on the internet, but the founder of that troupe (who remains a good friend of mine) agreed that it was a witch-hunt.  The Wizard was gone, and the wounds that came with his destruction never healed right.

The last time I was The Wizard was three years ago, at ConnectiCon.  I was double-booked for the convention and two burlesque shows on the same Friday night.  I did an overnight drive to-and-from ConnectiCon for the show, and the next day I hosted the Cosplay Death Match.  That year, I wore the robes of The Wizard.  It seemed right, given my double-duties that weekend.  I did not know it would be the last time I would don the costume.

This year, I decided to do something about those poorly-healed wounds.  This year I decided it was time for some care and recovery.  So this past weekend, for the 2018 Death Match, I wore the costume of THE WIZARD for the first time in three years.  I didn’t tell anyone what I was doing or what the costume meant to me.  The robe didn’t even stay on very long, as the crowd always insists I do the Death Match shirtless, but it was on stage and the character was resurrected in my heart.  I had to see if the old magic was still there.

The magic returned and old wounds were healed when the crowd, over a thousand strong, chanted my name.  Not “The Wizard,” because I didn’t tell anyone about the costume’s meaning or origin, but my name, because this year’s show was so strong and entertaining.  There was a moment during the Death Match where I was overcome with gratitude and told the crowd “I fucking love you guys.”  It was a moment that meant the world to me.

Was it validation?  Was it a measure of revenge as well as healing?  Maybe it was a little bit of both.  It was something I needed to do for myself, for my heart and soul, for my love of live performance.

I may never don the costume again.  The character may finally go into the west.  If that’s the case, at least now I can say THE WIZARD left this world on his own terms.