Iowa State Fair - the Wild Midwest

One of the great traditions of the Iowa State Fair is the historical photo portrait. This is an activity whereby overheated and overtired fairgoers pay for the pleasure of putting on additional layers of sweaty costumes and posing under hot lights while Herr Direktor instructs them to move their chins 4 millimetres up and 1.6 millimetres to the left.

My fabulous new friends Sara and Lindsay and I decided to affirm the bonds we made hanging out in the shady carpark with an esky (ice chest) by posing for just such a portrait. We didn't want to be gangsters' molls. We didn't want to be Victorian prudes. There was only one choice for us: we wanted the Wild (Mid)West photos.

Sara and I decided that with our boyishly short haircuts, and my freshly isosceles sunburned bosom, we would never make for convincing wild west women. So we cheerfully announced our desire to appear in drag, with Lindsay as our token wild woman. The costume people didn't bat an eyelid, just dug out coats to fit (children's small) and got on with the job. The photographer was unfazed, but a little confused. "Any significant others in this shot? Or are you just friends?" He asked.

"Just friends," I replied, "But the night is still young." Actually, once we were in costume, Sara and I had somehow slipped into a mock competition for Lindsay's attention. We performed such gentlemanly feats as holding the basket of our belongings and a certain amount of empty bragging. Personally, I think my shiny blue waistcoat and cosmopolitan accent gave me an edge over Sara's outlaw, bad boy charm, but I guess we'll never know.

This is the cheerful portrait that I liked best. Check out the size of my gun ... also the gleam of the lights on my man-boobs. Herr Director arranged our head positions to increments smaller than the width of a human hair and didn't notice the sheen on the gentleman's tits? Sigh.

This is the somber period portrait in which we assumed difficult-to-maintain serious expressions. Have you ever tried to keep a straight face while standing around in drag, heavily armed and holding fake whisky? My training in Montana had not prepared me for this.

Then there were the individual portraits. Lindsay does a wonderful period harlot, don't you think? I'm sure that doesn't imply anything ... I'm just saying. The fact that her dress was open at the back to show off the costume's fabulous frilly knickers probably helped her to get in the mood.

Sara was also well in character for her individual portrait. Don't cross this outlaw. Those guns are fast and willing.

Then there was me. With that smooth jaw, fresh face and, of course, the hint of man-boobs, it's hard to picture myself as a serious gunfighter. I tried to project the image of a poet warrior, artistic and slightly consumptive, more likely to die young of syphilis than violent struggle. Unfortunately, I think I ended up looking more like the innocent youngest member of the gang who gets shot and dies painfully while crying for his mother. All that effort to get dressed up and I was the random fatality guy on the "away team."