The proposition:
Embrace your Scottish heritage by donning a kilt and walk down a runway...
Did I ever tell you about the night a few years back that I painted my face like Braveheart, shared a glass of Scotch with Sir Sean Connery and wound up on the front page of the Scottish Times with Mr. 007 himself? I have gotten use to being greeted with smirks, guffaws and even outright B.S. calls when I tell people that. While I can't say I want my kid to see me immortalized dressed like Bam Bam from the Flintstones - on occasion you have to bite the bullet and pull out the press-clip. I've learned two things from that experience: first, sometimes a story is too good to be believed, and second, scotch is a formidable spirit. People are like cars - we all have an internal governor, much like a vehicle's restrictor plate, that prevents us from travelling, or in this case living, at excess speeds. Scotch is a lot like a security guard at a sporting event that asks rowdy fans to leave: it marches over and escorts your inhibitions out the door.
It isn't easy being Scottish in America. Everyone expects you to be a scratch golfer ("I thought you guys invented the sport") or to be as dashing as Sean Connery, not to mention that the whole world seems to be Irish on St Patrick's Day. Dressed to Kilt is a fashion show aimed at giving Scots a day of their own while having some fun and celebrating Scottish culture. There are celebrities, there are Kilts and there are judges. That means it is a competition. The event is always festive and memorable, and the 2010 show did not disappoint. The audience was spared a reprisal of my William Wallace impersonation this time around, but they did get to see Rugby players, Fiddlers and even a Canadian curling champion. This is my account of the evening, and how I sought to stand tall in a kilt and garner some respectable scores.
Since a panel was handing out scores, the first thing I did was size up my rivals. My first reaction is that it felt a bit like Gangs of New York: the Scots verses the "natives," some of the latter having absolutely no Scottish Heritage whatsoever. While I fall into the natives group, my grandfather was at least born in Glasgow.
Looking good in a kilt is sort of like dancing - either you can or you can't. The last thing I want to do is besmirch my grandfather's legacy along with Sir Sean's event, so I'm starting to worry about my chances with the judges. I make a quick scan of the room and it doesn't look good. Ok, there are some pretty famous people here. I start to wonder what my Q ratings are (honestly, I am not even exactly sure what a Q rating is). Since I don't have a Brogue and I have yet to be knighted by the Queen, I am definitely starting in the hole. That leaves me with one option: I will use guile and stealth to defeat my adversaries. Ah Scotland, the land of my forefathers. Sorry, you're not in Edinbourgh anymore. Here in New York we play with our elbows out.
First, I must curry favor so I walk over to a few of the Scottish Judges to make small talk. I figure I will begin with a lay-up ice-breaker. I start quoting lines from Gladiator. I'm met with blank stares-- damn, I'm an idiot, I meant to do Braveheart -- now I am just nervous, I follow up by asking how their NCAA March Madness tournament bracket turned out -- strike two (Europeans aren't big college basketball fans). I nervously sip my drink and slowly back away from the confused looking arbiters.
Now I do a quick run down of the competition: There is Olympic Gold medalist Shanni Davis, the world's fastest man on skates. Well Shanni, the only ice I see around here is in people's drinks, so you are out of luck my friend. Oh hey there's Joan Jett....hmm, she is cooler then me. On the plus side I bet I am faster than her on ice skates though. I am getting the feeling that Matthew Modine is avoiding me since I repeatedly quote him lines from his classics. Full Metal Jacket and Vision Quest...that and I keep giving him an awkward "thumbs-up" from across the room. I see Real Housewife Kelly Bensimon, American Idol, Kellie Pickler, Al Roker from the Today Show -- hey Al, do you see victory in the forecast? Donald Trump works the room. Marcus Schenkenberg is just a bit too polished walking down the runway all Zoolander on me. Bro, this is like a celebrity softball game, don't be throwing the 90-mile an hour fastball high and tight on the amateurs. Hey, where did Matthew Modine go? Ok my turn, umm....I need more Scotch.... I grasp my secret weapon tight to my chest. They call my name, and like a bull at a rodeo, I dash from the gate clutching my Excalibur: an iPad sporting a home screen emblazoned with the Scottish flag.
The rowdy crowd is fickle and demands to be entertained. Like a ball of yarn to a cat, the beast is soothed. Yes truly ye are a mighty and all-powerful talisman iPad. I salute you. However, it was all was for naught. In the end, there never really was any real competition. When in the presence of real heroes, there can be no pretenders. A parade of wounded warriors, all decorated veterans, gamely marched down the stage and stole the show. They took the crowds hearts and won victory, and for at least one evening, all was right in the world.