Coming to Terms with Size Bias: A Costume Designer’s Experience with a Post Pandemic Cast
By Kimberley Jones
Which visual component are you most likely to associate with theatre? If you are like most young adult students that I introduce to theatre at the start of every semester, your answer is likely costumes. It’s no wonder. According to Theatrefolk.com, “costumes help tell the story, help actors get into character, and immediately tell the audience something about what’s going on” (Hinson). A costume designer is tasked with telling the story through the visual appearance of every character, speaking and non-speaking, who appears on stage. It is a position which requires creative ability, construction skills, flexibility, and soft-skills that rival those of a clinical psychologist. This skillset is developed over time.
Imagine the shock that I felt upon realizing, after more than two decades of costuming experience, that despite my status as a BIPOC woman, I was not immune from operating with bias. This realization came when I was costuming a play set in the 1920s. How did it happen? It happened because my approach to the aesthetics of cast costumes, which I had practiced for decades up to this point, was highly offensive in our era of body positivity. I could attempt to lay blame on my 1920s era clothing research or the fact that a vast majority of the images featured in research were of svelte Caucasian women. I could say that it was because I wanted the cast costumes to be as authentic to the era as possible. All these facts compose my truth. Nevertheless, it was this occasion which unexpectedly caused me to come face-to-face with a salient awareness of my own size biases.
Ironically, the pandemic played a huge role in my discovery by ripping away the cover of the social ills that lay festering below the surface. The ever-increasing political schism between conservatives and liberals, lingering racial economic inequalities, and rising, sometimes fatal racial tension, between Black citizens and the police reached a national crisis level. It erupted into widespread demonstrations, protests, violence, and lootings. These factors increased the anxiety and stress-levels of many Americans. A 2021 study by the National Institutes for Health (NIH), revealed that nearly half of those surveyed reported “recent symptoms of anxiety or depressive disorder” as a result of the harrowing experience of living through a global pandemic. Collectively, the experience led to a national mental health crisis and one of the visible size effects was weight gain. This phenomenon was nicknamed “Covid-15” in pop culture which referred to gaining 15 lbs or more after the start of the pandemic. Statistically, Harvard Gazette compared the electronic health records of 15 million Americans, prior to and post pandemic. They confirmed that indeed “39% gained weight” during the pandemic, of which 10% gained more than 12+ lbs. This would prove true in the cast of a play production for which I would soon work as a costume designer.
As the stay-at-home mandates and bans against gatherings of 10 or more were lifted, theatre productions started up again in earnest. In the industry, we were happy to be back and pursuing our love of the arts. Casts were assembled, production dates set, rehearsals began, and measurements were taken. At a small local theatre, my work resumed as the costume designer for a play with a cast of primarily people in their twenties. The theme of the play centered on unfulfilled love and disappointment circa the late 1920s. Images of glamor, dropped hems, and flapper dresses dominated my visual research. These images and illustrations featured slender bodies in dresses that were close-fitting but not snug, and had a focus on a dropped hip line with hips that were not very pronounced.
The overall body shape of the era appeared lean and linear, and the clothing silhouette of the era was sleek and classy. Thus, that was the silhouette which I embraced as ideal upon starting work on the production. I was determined to recreate the ideal look, as closely as possible, on my contemporary cast. I started my process as usual, taking cast measurements, pulling stock, purchasing needed items, and creating a build list, which is a list of costumes that will need to be constructed for the show. I wanted the characters to look as authentic, dignified, and respectable as the historical images that I had gathered from research. This meant clothing, including the bodice of dresses, that fit the body closely but not snug, and certainly not tightly. The 1920s era was not a display of the bodycon dress (form fitting dresses which embrace and emphasize all natural curves and other parts of the body).
As a personal principle, I never want to place someone on stage in a costume in which they feel uncomfortable or embarrassed. What I had not taken into consideration, however, was that the cast of this particular show was of a much younger generation than myself and held a different viewpoint on body-image ideals than my own generation X. After speaking with the cast about the costumes, I noticed that they wanted to superimpose current clothing trends over the authentic clothing trends for the era in which the play was set. I gathered costumes for the cast of various sizes and deemed that a foundation garment, also called body shapewear in current-day, would be needed for the plus-size actor to maintain the look, flow, and fit of the 1920s garments. Body shapewear are tightly structured undergarments worn under clothing that have been worn in various iterations throughout history. They are created with the intent to uphold, uplift, and constrict the body to give an appearance of being slimmer, shapelier, or curvier per the purpose of the wearer.
When the cast came for their fittings, most acknowledged some weight gain since the pandemic. However, as I gathered costumes from stock, it was only the singular plus-size cast member that I gave a body shaper to. Later that night, the day’s events began to mentally replay. It occurred to me that singling her out might have been offensive to her, especially noting that I reminded her aloud to “be sure to put on the body shaper first” before putting on the costume. Her response was a look of being taken aback, but she said nothing as she quietly took the costumes into the fitting room. The reason I made the comments was because, in my experience, younger actors are often unfamiliar with foundation garments. Consequently, they have no idea when to wear them or what clothing item they should be worn under. I’ve found this to be particularly true of half or full slips, which I’ve also given actors to wear in addition to a body shaper.
The feeling that something wasn’t right about my earlier interaction with the actor continued to weigh on me. Soon, I had an epiphany. Although it was never my intent, I had nevertheless behaved in a very judgmental way towards the actor based solely on the fact that she was a plus size. Prior to this encounter, I had always considered myself a very open-minded, compassionate person who accepted people as they were. While that was true in most respects, it didn’t include seeing persons in clothing that accentuated imperfect body parts. With the stress of the pandemic having contributed to weight gain in general among the populace, acknowledgement of fluffier bodies had become normalized not only anecdotally, but also evidenced by a plethora of models of varying sizes used in print and digital ads for clothing as well as other items. The assumption could no longer be made that plus- size bodies always need restructuring, restricting, or reshaping to look good on stage. It took this incident to enlighten me.
When the reality of my action dawned on me, I immediately emailed the actor with an apology for singling her out. The apology was as earnest as possible because I wanted to avoid issuing a vague “non-apology” apology. The actor’s response to my email was more graceful than I deserved. She suggested that body shapers should have been given to everyone in the cast; not to her alone. In my younger years, I would have attempted to make the case that the other cast members had “dancer bodies” and therefore didn’t need a body shaper. But to Gen Z’s credit, they have been proponents of bringing awareness to and embracing body diversity in a new and impactful way. Consequently, I decided that my actions could not be defended. Instead, I replied that I agreed and would immediately implement her solution concerning how to make things right. Within a few minutes, I ordered body shapers for the other cast members as well.
I wish I could say that after this incident everything went wonderfully well. However, that was not the case for various reasons, some of which were unrelated to my faux pas. Nonetheless, after offending someone, an apology should be issued quickly despite there being no guarantee that the hurt feelings of the recipient will recover at the same pace. The working relationship may continue to be a bit awkward. This is especially true if awareness of the offense has circulated among the cast. For me, however, the silver lining was recognizing and becoming aware of my own bias(es). Further, I now understand that we all have bias(es), which should be remembered when pointing the finger of condemnation at others. Once made aware of and acknowledging my own bias, I put forth the effort to mitigate it.
Based on this experience, I offer the following advice to fellow costume designers and theatre practitioners: First of all, It’s important to acknowledge that regardless of one’s background or demographic, no one is exempt from having, showing, or acting upon bias(es). Similarly, working with people from varied and diverse backgrounds does not exempt one from having or showing bias(es). Thirdly, even with historical research in hand and a creative responsibility to maintain production authenticity, exercise caution to prevent weaponization of it as a cover for one’s bias(es). Lastly, regardless of one’s demographic, the best approach is to acknowledge any wrongdoing as soon as you become aware of it, apologize without vagueness to the person(s) that has been offended, and consider asking the offended party for suggestions on how to right the wrong. In summary, encountering your own bias doesn’t have to blemish your reputation as a designer. Instead, use the experience to open new pathways that better embrace the differences we discover in others.
Kimberley Jones, a native Texan, began her theatre career in NYC at the National Black Theater in Harlem under the mentorship of the late Tunde Samuels and Dr. Barbara Ann Teer. She has costume designed shows for La Mama ETC (NYC), Theatre for Young Audiences (Anchorage Alaska), University of Nebraska- Kearney, University of North Carolina-Greensboro, Millbrook Playhouse (PA), among others. Currently, she is an Asst. Professor of Costume Design at Grambling State University (LA).
Works Cited
Frates, Elisabeth Pegg. “Did We Really Gain Weight During the Pandemic”. The Harvard Gazette. 5, October 2021. https://news.harvard.edu/gazette/story/2021/10/did-we-really-gain-weight-during-the-pandemic/
Hinshon, Kerry. “How Costumes Affect Your Character”. Theatrefolk. 28, January 2023. https://www.theatrefolk.com/blog/how-costumes-affect-your-character/
Lake, Deborah Mann. “Among People With Obesity…Mental Health Factors”. UTHealth Houston News. 29, September 2022. https://www.uth.edu/news/story/among-people with-obesity-nearly-30-gained-significant-weight-during-the-covid19-pandemic-due-to mental-health-factors.
“Mental Health During the Covid-19 Pandemic”. NIH National Institutes of Health. https://covid19.nih.gov/covid-19-topics/mental-health. 20, March 2023.
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