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What Happens When Your Festival Costume Takes on a Life of its Own?

Wearing a costume has completely changed my life.

"I don't even know his name, but I know he was in Terminator," says the couple speaking to me on Skype. The actor, whose name they are grasping at, is Sam Worthington, who plays Jake Sully in James Cameron's Avatar. It's strange they can't recall such a basic trivia question about the 2009 blockbuster—because they have spent the last four hours coating themselves in blue latex and makeup to look like the film's Na'vi creatures.

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The costumed duo flickering from the blue light of my computer monitor regularly attends events throughout the year in full makeup, escaping the constraints of real life and embracing their alien identities. "Festivals are better as Avatars" they say, matter-of-factly. And the crowds agree; the pair have become quasi-celebrities in the music festival scene. Though that fame has been unintentional and counterintuitive to the pair's desire to remain incognito.

Whether using a "rave name" or wearing a physical mask, a desire for anonymity can be quite common at dance music events. But, what happens when your festival costume takes on a life of its own?

The couple in front of me insists on a complete division between the two identities and the spaces that they inhabit. Throughout our interview, neither of them reveals their name. I don't know their ages, nor where they live—they are just The Avatars.

"We don't want this interfering with our real lives in anyway," says the couple, who both work in sales and fear being labelled "hardcore partiers." "So, in order to keep our identities secret, we don't tell people in real life that we do this. If we try to merge the two, it just wouldn't work well for us."

Ironically, the larger-than-life Avatars, who happily spend hours interacting with fans and posing for pictures at Electric Forest, are admittedly introverted.
"[The costumes] are a way to draw people to us and start the conversation," says the duo, who claim to rarely go out and party in their hometown.

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For many dance music lovers, it's easy to brush off the throngs of costumed revellers at festivals as merely part of the spectacle. But psychologically, the phenomenon goes much deeper than aesthetics. The wild realms of dance music are an obvious place to experiment with identities that are not our own. "People often feel shy because of fear of judgement from others," Laurisa Dill, Director at The Mindfulness Clinic in Toronto, explains to THUMP. "In a costume, this fear may be lessened as a result of anonymity, or because of the perception that conventional rules don't apply."

Courtesy of The Avatars Facebook

But, not everyone who goes to a festival in a costume agrees in the sort of strict policy that The Avatars have implemented in their lives.

In Toronto, an almost uncomfortably energetic paralegal student is wholeheartedly striving to merge his daily life with that of his festival persona, "The Raving Taco." "[Wearing a costume has] completely changed my life," says AJ Qurashi, the man inside the tortilla. Like the Avatars, his outfit has had a profound effect on his social life, and he's more than happy to capitalize on it. "I've gained so many friends—I've gained a girlfriend. It's just made my life so much better—[my life's] gone from a three to a twelve." Qurashi's character has made a name for itself throughout Canada and beyond, accumulating a large following on Twitter. The twenty-one-year-old wears his costume like the ultimate VIP lanyard, striving to grow his, possibly otherwise unachievable, fame, popularity, and brand.

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Courtesy of AJ Quarashi Facebook

Both The Avatars and The Raving Taco utilize social media to keep in touch with their fans during festival off-seasons: "I have 10,000 followers on Twitter right now and I want that to turn that into a fanbase so I can start my own event company," Qurashi says. The Avatars have created both a Facebook and Twitter account, yet their online presence is much less business oriented than Qurashi's.

A new breed of celebrity is forming in the 21st century. When combined with social media, costumed characters at music festivals have become publicly adored figures. Their personas no longer die when cartoonish outfits are retired to the basement for the off-season; their presence is eternalized. The privacy of a mask or costume has become far less private. Festooned festival goers be warned: costumes can take on a life of their own; whether that is a blessing or a curse is up to you.

The Avatars are on Facebook

The Raving Taco is on Twitter

Rebecca is on Twitter.