No, that’s not him.
But it IS true that I’m a little smitten. Okay, maybe even more than a little. Because that softness! That drape! That shine! Ah! A seamstress’s dream.
I can stare at it for hours and not get bored. Like the moon, it superbly catches the light and reflects it selflessly back. This Fabulous Pouffleman can be worn with the collar up or down. With the cuffs fastened or open for a more casual look. The full four yards of fabric make sure it never clings or restricts. Yet without the presence of any frills and fancies, it does nothing but radiate strength and virility. And after my faux pas with the embroidered taffeta vest and the velvet coat, I think even Charlie (that’s him featuring Poofles in the picture above) likes it. Somewhat. Okay, he doesn’t hate it. Too much.
The downside of H.R.H. The Duke of Pooff? Yeah, it has one. Actually, I can think of a couple. Not only does it absorb light magnificently, but also everything else that it comes in contact with. I chose a high count Egyptian cotton because only that would be supple enough for the thousands of tiny accordion pleats I folded into the neck, the shoulders, the front, and around the wrists. Unfortunately, that same high count cotton fabric also tightly grabs hold of big globs of make up, fake blood, stage dirt, and whatever cold pizza is left during intermission. So after every performance, Mr. (call me Pirate) Poofy needs to be presoaked, hand-washed, drip-dried, cold-starched, and hot-ironed. There are no shortcuts. A buildup of oily stains will wear it away quickly and leave me and Valjean with nothing but a shredded shirt.
Who says a costumer’s job’s an easy one?