The Making of King Herod
Bringing the Eccentric Tyrant King to the Stage
Summerstock is here, and I’m beyond thrilled to be back at The Rev as the cutter/draper in the costume shop for a second consecutive year. This season features musicals I’ve never worked on before, and I was eager to start collaborating with some of the best leaders and stitchers I’ve ever worked with.
Our very first production was Jesus Christ Superstar, and it was being directed by Donald Rice, son of Tim Rice, the original lyricist who created the musical alongside Andrew Lloyd Webber. Coming from South Texas, where theatre isn’t as prominent, this was a big deal to me. I was excited, my friends and siblings were excited for me, and my parents were happy for me despite not having any idea who he was or what the story was about.
On my first day, costume designer Tiffany Howard assigned me the task of creating King Herod’s costume. I was immediately fascinated by her ideas 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.
When I was handed the nearly weightless fabric, my jaw dropped. The costume was to be made from a shimmering gold Oscar de la Renta designer fabric —priced at eighty dollars a yard—with the most luxurious hand I’ve ever worked with. The design was just as impressive: clean and simple from both the front and back, with gathering on the sleeves. 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 types. So I was low-key freaking out. I was handed eight yards of this luxurious fabric with a clear reminder: this was all we had. The design needed to be long, very flowing, and full of gathers, yet I also had to conserve as much material 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 I’ve had it since my design school days. 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. But 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 put together, I placed it on the dress form, and in that moment, I completely understood why the fabric came with such a high price. Made from 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 was 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.
The final step in the process was gathering the sleeves. In this design, the gathering started at the high point shoulder and extended all the way down to the wrist—about 25 inches for each side. To ensure precision, twill tape was secured at the seam’s base for stabilization, then pinned to the exact arm measurement. From there, I divided the length 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 create 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.
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. Usually, my inner critic whispers doubts and sows uncertainty, but this was not one of those times. Despite my tears, I was resolute, ready to weave that shimmering liquid gold fabric into a masterpiece that would command attention and present biblical grandeur.
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.
