Being a mascot is the most abrupt form of method acting. Muffled and sweltering beneath a mass of sculptured foam, one must never break character. This means remaining mute, keeping your head on and hi-fiving when in doubt. The 19th Century term “Mascot” derives from the French term, “mascotte” (which means ‘lucky charm’). These muppet-like cheerleaders of today’s corporations and sports teams are entrenched institutions and household names. While many are your standard animal or military figures, many “look like oversized bad replications of Sesame Street characters like Elmo and Cookie monster,” notes Joel Baergen, an NBA fan. “Burnie [Miami Heat mascot] is supposed to represent a flame but looks like a big orange shag carpet.”
Toronto Standard got to look ‘under the head’ of these feared and celebrated individuals.
Being a mascot often involves taking unsolicited swipes from the unwashed masses. “As a clown [mascot] I did sometimes sell kicks in the ass for a quarter,” notes Arlin Ffrench, now a tattoo artist. “Then once people start with kicking you, the meatheads soon decide that you are a ‘faggot’ and want to beat the shit out of you.… As a mascot, it is important to run fast. It is kind of hard not to beat on mascots. They are just so punch-able. But remember that they don’t have as much padding as you think they might.”
As “Wally the Bear,” Rob Majury remembers kids being generally rude and sticking gum in his fur “a lot.” Twice a mascot, Quentin Burgess claims that, often, little kids don’t think there is a person under the costume. “When little kids attack, they all start to attack. Like the little dinosaurs in Jurassic Park. So once they turn on you, you just gotta get out of there, really.”
The ever-present threat of attack is compounded by the fact that one’s mobility is often restricted. As a Buskerfest mascot (a Jester named “Heckles”), Majury’s peripheral vision was perpetually blocked. He trundled along at the mercy of his handler, who made sure he didn’t “fall into an open manhole or get hit by a car or fall down a hill.”
Also, malodorous discomfort is often the case. Despite having mini-fans installed in the heads, it can get oppressively hot and sweaty. “The worst part is the smell afterwards,” says Majury. “You really cant get rid of the smell. It’s that caked-on B.O. of not only yourself – but everyone else that has worn that costume. It sticks to you. Its kind of like hot vinegar.”
It’s not all pain and suffering, though. Being a mascot can be a fun way to interact with people and it allows you to step outside yourself. “I can just stand on the spot and be a robot for 20 minutes,” says Majury. “People would boo me if I just stood there and did that in the mall. But if I’m on the street, in a mascot costume, doing the poor man’s robot — I’m kind of a champion.”
Ffrench agrees. “Being a mascot gives you superpowers. You become the character. And since no one can see your real face you don’t feel judged as yourself.
Burgess was paid $50 a pop to don a “Mississauga Maniac” costume (for OHL’s St. Michael’s Majors) and circulate through the crowds at games. He had an understudy and was sought after by mascot ‘groupies’ for photos. He also possessed a certain degree of power by wielding the t-shirt cannon, “you just point that thing into a crowd and everyone puts their hands up and starts screaming.” He accompanied his team right to the Memorial Cup. It’s been a neat conversation starter and something different to put on a resume. He recalls the experience fondly.
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National Post Columnist Steve Murray is a former Bert the Safety Bunny mascot. He gave Toronto Standard a detailed account of life behind the mask.
I was a seventeen-year-old employee at Canadian Tire in Barrie and was a pretty eager young man. When I found out that they needed someone to play Bert The Safety Bunny, companion to Gert The Safety Bunny, I eagerly signed up. I remember the first time wearing the costume it was just around the store, to get a feel for it. I was, if you hadn’t already figured it out, a giant bunny wearing overalls. Big fur mittens and oversized shoes and the piece that truly makes it a mascot experience, the giant head.
The problem with the giant head is that, because of the large, round nature of it, your mesh eye holes are actually pretty far away from your eyes, so seeing is a problem. Your ears have no, uh, ear holes, so hearing is a problem. Also, there was a fan in the head to help with the crazy heat trapped in there with you, so if that was running, forget it. You heard nothing.
The second time I was Bert we headed outside, to downtown Barrie to be part of a festival. Our first stop was along the waterfront at a playground. Before that point I’d only encountered a couple of kids as Bert from my time in the store. Here, they were everywhere and running up to get hugs. Which was great! I liked kids and thought it was pretty neat how into the illusion they were. I’m sure their faces were filled with wonder and delight, I just couldn’t see them.
On this particular day it was quite hot out and the fan was no longer working, so I was sweating a lot. The sweat filled and stung my eyes, but there was nothing I could do since I couldn’t actually touch my face. The kids were pretty eager for me to play with them. My human handler was reluctant, and the girl playing Gert was having none of it, but I was like, sure, why not? I got on one of those horrible merry-go-round things that I’m pretty sure were later banned and let the kids spin me around. It was actually kind of nice since the centrifuge effect helped pull the sweat away from my face. I stumbled around after, quite dizzy and worried I was going to land on some kid.
They were ecstatic. Mascots normally don’t play with kids and I can see why. It’s fraught with danger and the kids never want it to stop. They eventually convinced me to go on the slide with them and, as I climbed the ladder to the top I finally thought “This is probably a bad idea.” At the top there was an archway and I had to bend my bunny ears and force my bunny head through it. There were kids in front of me and kids behind me and we slid down together. One more time! I went up again and down again. Over and over. I was in danger of passing out; it was like my head was in a fishbowl of hot salt water, but the kids were having fun.
I had pretty much had enough but even more kids started showing up, drawn to this dumb bunny. My handler, sensing I was almost dead, told them that I couldn’t go on the slide anymore. And then the rock hit me. I felt the thud on my bunny head and was confused at first. Then I heard a word from my handler, crisp and clear through my face prison: “TEENS.”
I turned around in time to get another rock in the head and we started to scramble to get out of there. The teens smelled our fear and a rock hit Gert in her head as we stumbled away to our car. I remember finally reaching it and pulling off the head and my handler being shocked at how red and wet I was. She filled me with water and we went to our next spot. I don’t think I gave much thought to mascots before that day. I suppose I thought it would be a fun job, and it was for the couple of days I got to do it, but, man, you don’t really get to fully experience it the way that you should. You assume that kids are happy and excited to meet you, but you can’t really see that happening. You’re just trapped with the horrible sound of your wet breathing bouncing back at you.
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Tiffy Thompson is a writer and illustrator for the Toronto Standard. Follow her on Twitter at @tiffyjthompson.
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