TBD and the Suit in a Backpack Phenomenon
Graphic by Agnes Lee
The lights are dimmed in the auditorium. I’m screaming the same string of words over and over again and clapping along to an ominously frantic beat as part of a ritualistic chant. On the stage, illuminated by the singular beam of the spotlight, a near-naked actor simultaneously wags his hips at us and pulls on a suit jacket over his shoulders.
This is not how I expected to spend my Saturday night. Nor what I thought would send me into a deep spiral about the meaning and place of fashion.
It all started when a friend of mine invited me to attend the TBD Open-Mic Night. TBD Northwestern is a student performance group inspired by neo-futurism, a style of theater specializing in innovative and fast-paced theater performances aimed at representing the authentic human experience. Each show is a conglomeration of plays written and directed by the cast members. TBD describes their plays as “wacky, serious, hilarious, political, sad, and anything in between.” This nonspecific summary was all I knew about TBD when I pulled up to their open-mic night.
To anyone who doesn’t know how the TBD shows work, this is the run-down: every TBD show is a self-directed student performance where each individual member writes their own play and performs it. The order in which the plays are performed is completely random. Each performer is randomly assigned a number from a hat, which, when pulled, signals their turn. The TBD show I attended followed this same structure; however, it was a completely non-TBD ensemble (hence the “open mic” element). The performers signed up in advance and planned their show together. As the short plays progressed, I slowly gained a clearer understanding of the show as a whole: a vibrant patchwork of ideas, displayed with sometimes uncomfortable chutzpah. The experience of watching felt at some times highly immersive, at others soul-baring; and by the time I walked away, I felt wonky and wonderful and confused, like I’d just left Charlie’s Chocolate Factory for the first time.
The piece that resonated with me the most was my participation in the momentous group chant involving the semi-naked person, a suit and a backpack. Allow me to paint the scene further. At first, the crowd was shushed, and a melodramatic silence descended upon the audience. Then, an actor pranced up to the stage wearing nothing but his skivvies, a backpack, a pair of San Francisco Giants booty shorts and not much else. He turned to us, raised his arms and began a chant: “suit in a backpack, suit in a backpack, suit in a backpack!”
Now, I’m not usually one for chants. They remind me of Kindergarten: sitting in a crowded auditorium, surrounded by my classmates, having to clap along to some cheesy song put on by the 5th graders. But alas, everyone is susceptible to mob mentality, and before I knew it, I was clapping right along and chanting “suit in a backpack” as earnestly as my fellow audience members.
Suit in a backpack … Suit in a backpack… Slowly, following the rhythm of the chant, the performer opened the backpack and pulled out the items, one by one. Dress shirt, pants, blazer… he shimmied into each item, his movements following the rhythm so steadily that he appeared almost possessed by the beat.
Our tempo increased: suit-in-a-backpack-suit-in-a-backpack, as the performer became less and less naked, manically pulling on items, taking opportunities whenever he could to swing his hips or shake his ass at the audience. What was this feeling? I thought. It was a kind of accelerated heartbeat, the same as being stuck on a rollercoaster.
The suit in a backpack made me think about a lot of things. There was an element of absurdism, which caused me to reflect upon the meaning and importance we assign to our clothing. I do not feel like a fully-formed person until I leave my dorm room sporting whatever outfit I spent too much time meticulously pulling together. Living on a college campus where students place so much importance on outfits and self-presentation, I’ve come to see clothes as something that marks my status in the world. But what are they, really? Pieces of fabric I put over my body every morning, to the increasingly loud and fast thoughts in my head, until I’m running out the door to meet the day.
This caused me to, in turn, reflect upon the idea of a suit. To college students, a suit may represent a lot of things: getting an internship or a job or being another cog in the capitalist machine. Something about seeing a ruffled college student haphazardly pulling on a suit amidst the screaming of an audience, however, made me feel a deep sense of compassion for him, myself and everyone around me. I remember thinking to myself, why are we all screaming this fast? I watched the actor put on the suit – the emblem of professionalism –– and then, finally, re-adorn the backpack– the symbol of being a student –– before walking off to the sound of jeering applause. Something about it struck me more deeply than I would care to admit. As I watched him go, I felt a strange feeling akin to pity deep in my chest.
