I'm Maggie Smith, and this is The Slowdown.

I never understood how no one recognized that Superman and Clark Kent were the same person.

He went into the phone booth as a man and emerged as a superhero, like a caterpillar metamorphosing into a butterfly.

But here's the thing.

You wouldn't ever mistake a butterfly for a caterpillar or vice versa.

A butterfly emerges from a chrysalis looking completely different. But Superman? Come on. As someone who alternates

between wearing contact lenses and wearing thick black-rimmed glasses, a la Clark Kent,

I know I am not incognito when I take off or put on my glasses.

Everyone knows it's me. I would need a different kind of disguise if I wanted to be unrecognizable,

a Halloween costume with a mask, or an elaborate cosplay get up. I'd need to take on an entirely new character. In truth, both Clark Kent

and Superman are versions of the same man.

But when people see one version, they don't know the other side to him exists.

Everyone believes the disguise for some reason.

I think that works for us in the real world, too.

When we wear a costume or even an uncharacteristic outfit,

it's possible to let go of the expectations other people set for us.

Sometimes disappearing into another identity makes you more of yourself, not less.

Being inside a persona might make you freer, not more constrained.

In today's poem, costumes provide essential cover.

Only disguised as others, concealed, can the speaker and her love be their true selves?

Cheap Magic

by Ariel Abert

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