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LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

By Marcy Nathan, Creatiive Director The first year I got to ride in the Muses parade, the theme was, appropriately, Makin’ Groceries. I got so excited I threw all of my shoes before we even hit Louisiana Avenue (readers, that’s not even halfway down the route). I then threw my headdress. At one point my float was surrounded by a sea of screaming people holding signs with my name and face on them. As anyone who has ever ridden in one of the big Mardi Gras parades will tell you, it’s the closest you will ever get to being famous. So my second year — now a bit of a seasoned pro, hehe — I made more shoes. After I generously handed an elaborately glittered flip-flop to someone I already didn’t like, she tried to return it for a high heel — seriously, can you imagine? She gave me back the flip-flop, and I gave her back a dirty look. No shoes for you! Somewhere around the viewing stands close to the end of the route, I made the mistake of lifting up my mask. Your mask has to be worn at all times — sound familiar? — and I ended up with a $250 fine from the City of New Orleans. You get whipped at Faquetaique Courir de Mardi Gras in Eunice if you take off your mask, so I guess I got off easy. Like most New Orleanians, I have loved Mardi Gras since I was a child. My mother never missed a parade. She would dress us in matching clown costumes to watch Rex and Zulu and a never-ending parade of truck floats. My dad was in charge of the ladders — yes, I said plural ladders — for me and my three sisters. I still have a slew of Mardi Gras traditions that I observe. I live conveniently right off of the Thoth parade route, and my neighbors and I set up outdoor bars and indoor buffets to serve everyone who comes

French Quarter for lunch, and the French 75 bar next door. Eventually we make our way down the block to the Old Absinthe House on Bourbon Street to meet friends who lunched at Antoine’s and Galatoire’s. Invariably, I miss Orpheus that night. The Jefferson City Buzzards, the world’s oldest Mardi Gras marching club, fly down my street Mardi Gras morning. You can’t miss them, even if you try. My neighbors and I gather on the sidewalk to watch, some of us still in pajamas. I’m usually in costume by then — I graduated from my childhood clown costume to beauty queen Miss Sippy, complete with sash and crown, cocktail glass and Southern drawl. I usually go downtown on Mardi Gras, which is all about the costumes — no one is trying to pass off a Saints jersey or Mardi Gras polo shirt as a costume downtown. It’s a big walking day. We join the Secret Society of Saint Anne and the Society of St. Cecilia, which parade on foot from the Bywater through the Marigny into the French Quarter. Some years I make it to Bourbon Street for the annual Bourbon Street Awards, where prizes are given for things like best drag costume. (The Mardi Gras my boyfriend wore a silver dress and makeup, he easily could have taken a gold — if we’d made it to Bourbon Street.) Some years I make it to the Backstreet Cultural Museum to see the Mardi Gras Indians, some years to Crescent City Steak House to say farewell to the flesh with a sizzling steak. Some years, I never make it past Esplanade Avenue. But no matter how much fun I’m having, I never miss the St. Augustine Purple Knights Marching 100 band. We filmed them rolling through our Tchoupitoulas store in Uptown New Orleans one year — you could see their patterns in motion as they paraded down the frozen food aisle. The Marching 100 were the first Black marching band to take part in the Rex Mardi Gras parade. They are 100% my favorite part of Mardi Gras — I’m dancing in my chair just writing this – and they are what I will definitely miss most about no parades this year.

by on their way to the parade. There’s always a crawfish boil and a porch band. Invariably, I miss Bacchus that night.

Muffaletta Muses shoe by Jamie Richardson​. Photo by Erika Goldring.

Lundi Gras is a true social occasion. We get all dressed up and go to Arnaud’s in the

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