The Goddess Elvira

Musings of an Anxious Millennial Writer #04: Celebrating a cultural icon and my personal hero.

Giving into idol worship is something that I find unsettling, especially as an adult. Kind of weird for someone raised Catholic, I know (or is it the reason for my feelings? An answer that can only be found in a therapist's office). However, when I speak about idol worship, I don't necessarily mean this about religion. I mean it in the sense of extreme fandom. Sure, I went through various degrees of obsessive fandom in my adolescent and teen years. And yeah, I find myself going through phases of infatuation towards personalities, even in adulthood (mostly just passing crushes, to be fair). Every now and then, even I find myself toeing the line of parasocial relationships (judge me not for my tweets at wrestlers, lest thee be judged in return). But it's hard for me to wrap my head around adults being mega-fans of things, especially people. Isn't it a part of the condition of the celebrity, and overall human, to be endlessly disappointed by the people you like? How can people still go gaga over celebrities when there's always something that comes up to show just how awful they are IRL? How can people be so willing to overlook the bad just to focus on the parts of them that appeal to their tastes and senses?

Whenever I've come across a prompt about who my hero is in an interview or editorial call for pitches, I feel stumped. My grandma comes to mind first, and I've written about her plenty. My mother is another, but as far as it goes for people not in my immediate family, there's only one person I can pinpoint as the one. The only famous person who's yet to disappoint. The one enigmatic figure who has never let me down.

My idol is, unironically, unabashedly, forever, and always, the Mistress of the Dark herself, Elvira.

Since I was little, Elvira has been a prominent fixture in my home life. I can't exactly explain how or why—but she was one of those characters my mother and grandmother adored. I can't say that we made a point to watch a lot of Elvira's Movie Macabre; we knew her more as just a constant. A frequent guest on The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. An iconic face and body that would pop up around Halloween. And as Halloween fans ourselves, we loved her. So much so that I dressed up as her for Halloween at my grandmother's suggestion in fourth grade. Or I should say I attempted to. The closest wig my mother could find that matched Elvira’s signature bump hairstyle at the local Woolworths was blonde. It, paired with a standard black draping witch costume dress, would have to do. I may not have exactly looked the part, but I still told everyone that I was Elvira. (Many years later, in college, I'd dress up as my idol in a much more accurate manner—in all respects.)

Admittedly, a lot of Elvira's jokes flew right over my head. I was by no means her target audience. I was just enamored by her look, her confidence, her humor. And this would just continue to grow over the years.

As an adult woman with ample, ahem, presence, Elvira made me feel like it was ok to embrace that part of myself. That there was no shame in showing off the details of my body I admire, that women can be just as rowdy and uncouth as men, and almost every obstacle can be overcome with a good sense of comedic timing and some big—um, problem-solving skills.

I was around 24 when I realized the idea of immortalizing Elvira was essential. Ever a water sign, I imagined her as a mermaid, a sexy one with leather fins and bodice, a la Olivia De Berardinis’ Bettie Page art. Once my mind was made up on this, I was determined to do it—I'd just need to find the right artist and save up the money. While it eventually fell from being a priority to a someday goal, I still would check every few months to see if there were any artists I found worthy of the task and if anyone had come up with an idea similar to mine. 

Ten years passed, and no one else had produced this idea (not that I could find, that is). I still wanted it more than ever, but two important things changed: I found the perfect artist for it, and I had saved up enough money. This was the year I finally decided to pull the trigger and make that idea a reality, and I don't regret it one bit.

And yet, despite my love and now flesh-tribute to Elvira, I realized something: I still knew fuck all about Cassandra Peterson's life. And it turned out most of the world didn't either. The reveal of her partner for nearly 20 years came as news to the masses, and it became clear that Peterson kept to herself the things she most cherished. My collection of Elvira-related merchandise is forever growing, and, as such, it was necessary to own a copy of her memoir. After months of owning it, I finally got around to diving in, and learning more about the woman behind the gothic makeup and big—hair—was fascinating.

Cassandra Peterson's life was not all glitz and ghoulish glamor. Her story, albeit so different from mine (I was never a go-go dancer, and while my husband has always been in bands, I'd never consider myself a groupie), was incredibly relatable on matters of the heart and mind. So who is Cassandra Peterson, really?  

Cassandra Peterson is a woman who had to become all too familiar with disappointment. Things seldom went her way. She didn't achieve her true success until she was in her early 30s. After many failed pregnancies and upsets, she didn't have a child until she was 43. When things seemed to be going right for her, something else would happen to reset her back at ground zero. Her successes always seemed short-lived and wrought with problems and her own insecurities.  

She's a person who has struggled with faith in herself, who doesn't know how to take a compliment and has difficulty believing the kind things people say about her.

Her life wasn't easy. It was tragedy and disappointment one after another. And yet, she just keeps on fighting, making fun puns about her boobs, giving a sexy wink, and moving on. She's also an ardent believer in women's rights, gay rights, and animal rights and seems to have a genuinely kind soul. Plus, she was also friends with Phil Hartman and Paul Reubens. What's more inspiring than that?

So now I can say that not only is Elvira my hero, but so too is Cassandra Peterson. And my love for her, Halloween, and campy shlock will never, ever die.