We touched on Marcia briefly in yesterday's NY Mag piece, but it bears repeating: This dress evokes nothing so much as memories of my sixth-grade Science Fair project.
It was called "Spoil Spores," because even at that age I was a sucker for a terrible pun, and it was all about mold. I grew it in different conditions and on different substances: bread, cheese, orange juice, and pieces of wet cloth, and let me tell you, the penicillin mold that bloomed in my glasses of Tropicana were utterly magnificent. Had they not smelled musty and strange and been gaggingly furry, I probably could've swallowed all of them and become invincible. So whenever I see Marcia up here, it conjures images of going into the laundry room every morning to check the fridge and the windowsill and the shelves to see how far my mold had crept along overnight. And I'm not sure embodying the fruits of a third-place science experiment is exactly what Marcia had in mind.
However, she has inspired me to take "Spoil Spores" to the next level: a ballet. In that twee, stumpifying tutu, Marcia could play the lead -- a rogue mold that falls in love with the food she's supposed to ruin, culminating in a heartbreakingly luscious pas-de-deux that ends in death. Bring Kleenex, people. It's going to change the way you look at those pita pockets that have been sitting on the counter for two weeks.
It was called "Spoil Spores," because even at that age I was a sucker for a terrible pun, and it was all about mold. I grew it in different conditions and on different substances: bread, cheese, orange juice, and pieces of wet cloth, and let me tell you, the penicillin mold that bloomed in my glasses of Tropicana were utterly magnificent. Had they not smelled musty and strange and been gaggingly furry, I probably could've swallowed all of them and become invincible. So whenever I see Marcia up here, it conjures images of going into the laundry room every morning to check the fridge and the windowsill and the shelves to see how far my mold had crept along overnight. And I'm not sure embodying the fruits of a third-place science experiment is exactly what Marcia had in mind.
However, she has inspired me to take "Spoil Spores" to the next level: a ballet. In that twee, stumpifying tutu, Marcia could play the lead -- a rogue mold that falls in love with the food she's supposed to ruin, culminating in a heartbreakingly luscious pas-de-deux that ends in death. Bring Kleenex, people. It's going to change the way you look at those pita pockets that have been sitting on the counter for two weeks.
