The Making of King Herod
Bringing the eccentric tyrant king to the stage
Summer stock is here, and I’m absolutely thrilled to return to The Rev Theatre Company as the cutter/draper in the costume shop for a second consecutive year. This season brings a lineup of musicals that I haven’t had the opportunity to work on previously, and I couldn't wait to dive in and collaborate with some of the most talented leaders and stitchers I’ve had the pleasure of working with.
Our first production, Jesus Christ Superstar, was to be directed by the prestigious writer, filmmaker, and theatre director Donald Rice. Coming from South Texas, where theatre isn’t as widespread, this was a pretty big deal. Being part of a team led by such a distinguished and generous artist was deeply inspiring, and I knew from the start it would be an unforgettable experience.
On my first day back, costume designer Tiffany Howard assigned me the task of creating King Herod’s costume. I was immediately intrigued by the details of her idea for the design. In Jesus Christ Superstar, Herod is a flamboyant and charismatic showman with a touch of comedy, which meant his costume could be as over-the-top and theatrical as the character himself. That also meant the fabric I’d be working with was likely to be equally vibrant.
My jaw dropped when I was handed eight yards of a nearly weightless, shimmering gold Oscar de la Renta designer fabric a week later. Priced at eighty dollars a yard, it had the most luxurious hand I’ve ever worked with. The design was just as impressive: simple lines and uncluttered details on both the front and back panels, with excessive gathering on the sleeves that started at the neckline and extended all the way to the wrist. This was a case where the fabric was meant to do the talking, and it certainly did.
Truthfully, I’ve never actually worked with high-end designer fabric before, but I’ve collected plenty of swatches and studied a variety of fabric contents. So, I was low-key freaking out. I was handed the fabric with a stern warning: this was all we had, and I needed to make every inch of it count. The design was long, very flowing, and full of gathers, yet I also had to save as much yardage as possible for a potential second project. No pressure, right?
This meant I had to be meticulous with my measurements and plan the pattern layout carefully. I couldn’t cut the pieces on the fold due to the fabric’s slippery texture, or it could easily shift and lead to inaccuracies. Instead, every piece had to be laid out flat and cut in full. Which also helped to minimize the amount of fabric I was using.
Now, if you’ve ever worked with me before, you know all about my cutting anxiety. For those unfamiliar, it's that wave of nerves and fears that hits right before making the very first cut into a new yard of fabric. You start to imagine all the mistakes you could possibly make and all the ways it could go wrong. Ruining your pieces and costing the shop millions of dollars in fabric damage. Yes, it’s real, and it’s something I haven’t been able to let go of since design college. Even after finalizing the pattern and having triple checked all my measurements, I still stood there for about fifteen minutes before finally making that first cut.
But once that first cut was finally made, I was off and running. Since the fabric was very delicate and prone to fraying, the entire garment had to be French seamed— about twenty-five feet of French seams. It took me two full workdays to complete, maybe three, I’m not sure, I may have blacked out.
I cried during this process, which isn’t surprising. I’m pretty much a professional crier about everything. In this case it mostly tears of joy because I was so thrilled to be working with such gorgeous fabric. (At least, that’s the story I gave my shop manager when she asked why I looked like I’d just survived a scene out of Les Mis.) Honestly though, French seams are a hallmark of couture craftsmanship, and truly, there’s no other way to construct a garment using Oscar de la Renta fabric.
Once the entire garment was sewn together, I placed it on a dress form, and in that moment, I completely understood why the fabric came with such a high price. Made from mostly natural fibers, its drape was absolutely unmatched. It shimmered and flowed with such elegance, it genuinely looked like liquid gold. And that’s not just me talking. According to Tiffany, that was a direct quote from Donald Rice.
I quickly learned why conserving fabric became so important—I needed it to make bias tape. Two hundred and sixty inches of handmade bias tape, to be exact. I needed enough to finish the entire front opening and the dramatic, cascading sleeves. I mean, this was Oscar de la Renta, and it was being worn by King Herod. Finishings couldn’t be ordinary; they had to be exceptional. So I tried not to cry again and instead channeled my inner powerhouse bad bitch and got to work cutting away strips and threading them through the bias tape maker.
The final step in the process was gathering the sleeves. Since the gathering would start at the high point shoulder and stretch all the way down to the wrist, the full length extended to roughly 70 inches long and needed to be taken in to 25 inches for each side. To ensure precision, twill tape was cut to the exact length and pinned to the sleeve seam line to secure the base and ensure stabilization. From there, I divided the fabric into even sections and carefully gathered each one by pulling the basting stitches, section by section.
Gathering is always painstakingly slow and meticulous, no matter what the design is. You have to be careful not to snap your thread because if you do, the entire process has to be repeated from the beginning. Despite how long this would take to complete, it felt like the light at the end of the tunnel. Knowing this was the last step to a fully finished garment gave me the motivation I needed to push through and see the project through to completion.
One week after being handed the fabric for construction, I was finally finished. And I had conserved just enough fabric for our first-hand, Amara, to drape a halter blouse for our King to wear beneath the robe. The final look was the result of a beautiful collaboration between skilled sewists and visionary designers, coming together to help our actor fully connect with the character and step seamlessly into the role. It was also my hope that the completed costume reflected our distinguished director’s creative intent.
Tiffany Howard had a bold vision for King Herod. One that demanded both elegance and spectacle. My role was to bring that vision to life. It was a challenge that pushed my creativity, precision, and eye for detail in the best possible way. But I was resolute, ready to weave that shimmering liquid gold fabric into a masterpiece that would command attention and present biblical grandeur. Beneath the glow of the stage lights, the final look stood as a shimmering embodiment of her vision and everything I’d hoped for.
And if you’re wondering whether I cried again when it was all finished—yes, I did. Like a baby. But it was from the bittersweet feeling of finishing something so special and wishing I could do it all over again.
