We are going to see Lady Gaga live tomorrow. I can’t believe it. In Tokyo. For the first time. I’ve been waiting five years….
BUT WHAT TO WEAR?
What clothes? And all the rest of it? Duncan is insisting we go into Yokohama this afternoon and get some face paint (is he really going to go in summer kimono and and blackened face? Am I really this conservative, resisting dressing up, just because I know I can’t possibly compete with all the Japanese ‘little monsters’ who will be exquisite, outrageous, more done-up and ‘shocking’ than anyone could possibly be in Europe or America, I am sure, I know. When it comes to avant-garde, to really taking it to the futuristic extreme, just leave it to the J-People. They are going to look gorgeous; let them shine.)
So should we even try? Duncan says yes. You have to. It’s a Gaga concert. What, though? Dye my hair blonde for the day and emerge a balding frazzle come September when I go back to schooI? Attempt some nonsensical get up? (we are staying at a hotel for two nights, going the whole hog, so there will be a dramatic exit as we emerge from the elevator ready for our afternoon entrance at the train station and we join the other bubbling throngs heading towards the stadium for a night of celebration and song. But do I just go incognito and try and record it, or join them, and smear my face in makeup? (like this? Us two in ‘alternative wear’…..)
Oh the neurotic frenzy.
I am fretting about a million things.
Will my claustrophobic tendencies overwhelm me as we surge forward towards the stage and the Gaga dazzles my brain and mind with music and lights and I give in to my hysteria?
Will they let us have water? Will my still-injured knee give way, and thus find myself being dragged beneath screaming teenagers, clawing at the mud, and internally bescreeching my dishonourable death while desperately trying to maintain my final poker face?
Is there really going to be a tropical thunder storm? ( I have been watching the weather obsessively for days……NOOOOOOOoo) Will we be hit with lightning during Aura? Go up in smoke and a sizzle like a swirling Turkish kebab as she hits those blessed high notes in that orgasmic chorus?
Or, more worryingly, will she be crap? Too bloated, drunk or jet-lagged to do her moves? Will I be let down and disappointed, all this pathetically childish build up for nothing? (and the price of those ‘premium’ tickets…..Will it all be a shambles?)
Que faire, people? Will I need sedatives? Five bottles of wine?
And, for god’s sake, scent?
Now scent, I can do outrageous. Oh yes, in that regard, no one can beat me in over-the-top. Not even Gaga. I am a true terrorist. But do I want to streaming vanilla, tuberose, and all that miserable goo in such sweating, monstrous conditions? Do I want to be donning olfactory drag, something pink, uppity and grotesque like Ungaro’s Senso ? Or rocking the testosterone with Arab oudh, rose, nuclear armpits and the macho hit, like Gaga in her You and I video?
Something fresh and citrus to keep my wits about me? Oh, what direction to turn in, people? Just go for fresh? Wear nothing? We could be crushed and maimed as people shriek and lose their minds to Bad Romance and Applause and our bodies collide, my patchouli oozing carcass and those young J-things. Do I even want to be thinking about perfume? Or should I simply be following our dear Stefania’s advice and…. Just Dance?