This past Wednesday, I went to see Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night on Broadway.

It starred some incredible actors (an all male cast) in period dress, which is cool in and of itself, but the coolest thing about it, for me, was the fact that you could go to the theater early and watch the actors getting dressed (by dressers) right on the stage. I went with my daughter, who was a very good sport about arriving ultra early, and even though we had seats that were pretty far back, a nice usher let me come up before the show and stand right up at the front, with my elbows on the stage, to watch the actors get dressed up close. My daughter was somewhat mortified by this, but she’s used to having a peculiar mother.

About one foot away from me, close enough to touch his kirtle, was the actor Paul Chahidi, who plays Maria, the witty maid who writes the trick letter to Malvolio, played by the peascod-belly-wearing Stephen Fry. (Side note: I’ve been a fan of Stephen Fry ever since he played Jeeves to Hugh Laurie’s Bertie.) 

We weren’t allowed to take pictures, so I stood and sketched the layers as they put them on Maria–chemise, bodices and petticoat, bum roll, gown, neck and wrist cuffs and half-ruff, silk stockings and garters and shoes. And pins, pins, pins. (Mark Rylance, playing the Countess, also wore a border–amusing border story here.)

Mr. Chahidi was gracious and lovely and chit-chatted with me the whole time. It was slightly disconcerting to see him before they put his wig on (he’s, um, bald)—his face was porcelain white with daubs of red on each cheek. (I’m pretty sure they didn’t use liquid lead.) While his stays were being laced up he asked me what I was sketching and I told him I was working on a book about history and fashion for kids and he smiled and said that was “brilliant.” He hitched his breath between the syllables, though, as his dresser was just cinching in his stays. So it came out as “Brih-gasp-li-ant.”

And then the play was brilliant.

We were allowed to take pictures at the very end, so here’s a blurry one where you can kind of see what they wore.