This past Wednesday, I told my friend Sandy a dream of mine: “I have this dream I haven’t told many people, Sandy.”
She listened attentively.
“I want to dress up like She-Ra, play music, and stand in front of a bucket that people put money in. I think I could make money that way.”
“I think that sounds great, I think you should do it,” she replied.
“Well, it IS Last Thursday tomorrow, there’s that street fair in my neighborhood, and my mom duties are over at 7:00. If there’s any day to do it, it’s tomorrow.”
“Do you have the costume?” Sandy asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Do you have the wig?” she asked.
“Yes, and the boots and everything,” I said.
“Well, then I expect to see it on Instagram on Friday.”
As soon as she said that magical sentence, “I expect to see it on Instagram on Friday,” I committed to pursuing my dream. When Sandy gives a worthy assignment, I don’t want to let her down.
I purchased the She-Ra costume a month or so ago. For Pride month, a friend of mine had bought himself a new fan that said “Daddy” on it. Inspired by his bold and saucy fashion choices in the spirit of self-expression, I ordered the She-Ra costume I had been wanting as a Pride present to myself. As a martial artist, I already had a Tai Chi sword that would match the outfit perfectly.
For those of you who may not know, She-Ra is an 80’s cartoon super hero. She is He-Man’s sister, and I’m guessing she was invented to expand He-Man’s cartoon and action figure empire into the girl market. I watched the She-Ra cartoon and had the toys as a kid. She-Ra was the alter-ego of Princess Adora, and in the intro to the cartoon, if I remember correctly, she said some spell, held up a sword, was surrounded by swirling energy, and she changed into a powerful and fierce super hero, She-Ra. She had a horse that turned into a winged horse, and a slew of colorful female friends with a few enemies thrown in to create interesting plot points.
The action figures are what I remember more than the show. I had She-Ra’s castle, the She-Ra action figure, two of her friends—one with purple hair, one with blue— and the gorgeous pink winged horse that she could ride on. The She-Ra action figure was about six inches tall, and I remember being enamored with the red plastic jewel set between her breasts. It was a separate piece of plastic embedded into her molded chest, and it was faceted and shimmery. She had a cloth cape and skirt, and long, brushable blonde hair. Her lips were red and her eyebrows arched. I loved the no-nonsense look on her face; this woman had important work to do.
She-Ra is the hero I want in my life right now, the hero I want to be. In 2016, I felt crushed after the election of President Trump, the pussy-grabber. I had thought, “For sure our country won’t elect a president who thinks it’s OK to grab a woman by the crotch.” But our country did.
I have identified as a feminist since a young age, but since the Trump election I’ve paid closer attention to the deep undercurrents of misogyny and sexism that run though our country’s institutions, laws, expectations, and actions. Since becoming a mother, I’ve felt firsthand how trying to live up to the gendered expectation of the “supermom,” the mom who raises kids, runs a household, and holds a job without breaking a sweat— is trying to live up to an impossible ideal. It’s too much work for one person, to take on the bulk of the childcare, the home management, and to have a professional life outside of the family. It was too much work for me, at least, and I kept struggling through cycles of burnout while trying to explain to my husband how taking care of the kids all the time was driving me insane.
But She-Ra as I imagine her doesn’t have to worry about things like balancing her work, her marriage, her kids and home life. She says her spell, changes into her fierce and fabulous best-self, and carries a sword to help her cut through life’s bullshit.
I didn’t carry my Tai Chi sword to Last Thursday, though it looked great with my outfit. I realized last-minute that bringing a weapon to a street fair is not a smart idea. So I left the house in costume, with a bucket for collecting money, a sign promoting the 80’s cover band I’m slowly starting, and a bluetooth speaker connected to one of my favorite iTunes playlists. I walked the few blocks from my house to Alberta Street.
Last Thursday on Alberta street in Portland used to be an enormous street fair. The road would be closed to traffic, vendors would line the street, musicians, dancers, and martial artists would play and demonstrate, and thousands of people from all over would descend on the neighborhood to walk around, buy handmade art, stand in line for hipster ice cream, and gawk at all the weird, wild Portland-ness around them.
Last night’s Last Thursday was much smaller, due to Covid restrictions. The street wasn’t shut down, but some vendors still lined the sidewalks. Even though it wasn’t a big affair, there were still more people in the neighborhood than usual. And those people were looking for interesting things to look at.
As I walked the few blocks from my home to Alberta street in my She-Ra costume with my music blasting, I felt the excitement of possibility and opportunity. As I neared the main drag, I saw people promenading and cars cruising. Heads immediately turned to look at me, the nearly six-foot woman dressed as a super hero with music blasting. And I had an enormous smile to greet them when they looked.
I’ve always loved dressing up and being the center of attention. My mother was a professional singer and performer for years, my father played the lead in his high school musical, so the desire for the spotlight is in my blood. I used to be the lead singer for a band, and I want to be again. My She-Ra experiment was the beginning of letting that performer part of me step back into the light.
Though there weren’t many people out last night, the response to my outfit and music was resoundingly positive. People smiled and waved, one women said “Hi, She-Ra!” Another said, “Welcome Princess!” And parents pointed out my costume to their small children. I walked the street until I found a good busking spot, then I set up my sign, my bucket, and danced and sang along to my playlist.
As I stood there singing and dancing on the street, I felt calm, peaceful, beautiful, at home. I expected to be nervous, but I wasn’t. A few people walked by and read my sign, some smiled, some pretended to ignore me, but I was there. I took a few selfies and texted them to Sandy: “I’m doing it!” I wrote to her. Assignment complete.
I stood and danced in my chosen spot for about fifteen minutes. Nobody put money in my bucket, and I started to get a little concerned that I was too loud for the other nearby vendors. Standing there was not going to be lucrative after all, so I decided to move. I packed up my things and started walking towards home, thinking I’d pick another spot and dance there for a little bit. However, as I started walking, I realized that I had already completely fulfilled my dream of busking dressed as She-Ra. Actually making money wasn’t part of the dream, just the act of dancing in public in costume was. So I decided I’d go home, drop off my bucket, then go back out to the crowded nearby bar still in costume.
When I stopped home, I told my eight-year-old son I had made no money. He had been concerned with the legality of my street performing without a license. I said, “Well, since I made no money, there’s nothing to worry about.” My son looked relieved and satisfied. My husband mentioned that the act of busking was illegal, so I’d still broken the law. I brushed his concerns aside, left my bucket, and headed back out.
I walked toward the bar on the corner, a place with a great jukebox, savvy bartenders, and a hoppin’ crowd. I bumped into some close neighbor friends on the way, and we took pictures together. I told them of my quest, and my buddy shot a video of my for my instagram (which I need to post today per Sandy’s instructions.) I delighted in seeing my friends, we caught up, then I continued to the bar, where I walked in confidently, ordered a drink, and sat to write about my evening in my journal.
At the bar, a group of four or five women, one of them celebrating her 28th birthday, greeted me and we started talking. They loved my outfit, I loved the colorful clothes and jewelry they were wearing, and we basked in the magical glow of a newly formed bar friendship. They wrote in my journal, we took pictures together, and we exchanged info via instagram. I headed home satisfied after a great night.
Joy. If I had to describe the experience of the night in one word, that would be it. Joy. I felt so happy seeing the smiles my outfit elicited. The connection I felt with other people was immediate and tangible, a recognition of the joy, love, and playfulness available to us as humans. As She-Ra, I cut through the bullshit of us all being strangers and connected heart-to-heart with people I had never met.
At one point in the evening a man stopped me to ask, “Why are you dressed up?” Smiling, I looked him in the eye and replied, “Just for fun.” He smiled, understanding, then we went our separate ways.
Maybe “just for fun” is the thing that cuts through the bullshit. Following the path of joy instead of darkness. It’s something we can all understand. Maybe it’s as simple as that.
Michelle Folk Johnson 