Carnival Queen | Reina del Carnaval
"During carnival season, a costume designer and a dancer create magic together on and off the parade route"
Carnival Queen
Reina del Carnaval
Carnival was two weeks away, and my lead dancer needed a new costume.
"The feathers are wrong," she said. "I can't move."
"The feathers are expensive," I replied. "You'll make them work."
"I won't win with feathers that don't flow."
She was right. And I hated that she was right.
Her name was Isabela, and she'd won Carnival Queen three times. She knew what worked. I was just the designer who made her visions reality.
"New feathers," I conceded. "But you're helping me source them."
"Deal."
We spent a week together—fabric shops, feather warehouses, bead suppliers. By the end, I'd forgotten I was supposed to dislike her.
"Why do you dance?" I asked while we sorted plumes.
"Why do you design?"
"I asked first."
"Because my body speaks better than my words." She demonstrated a movement that made my breath catch. "What about you?"
"Because I see things that don't exist yet. And I like making them real."
"Like magic."
"Like work. Magic is just work that looks effortless."
The costume came together beautifully. Gold and copper, feathers that flowed like water, beadwork that caught light from every angle.
"It's perfect," she said, looking in the mirror.
"You're perfect. The costume just helps."
"Marisol..."
"Sorry. That was unprofessional."
"It was honest." She turned to face me. "I like honest."
She kissed me in my workshop, surrounded by half-finished costumes and scattered sequins.
"This complicates things," she said.
"I specialize in complicated."
"The competition is in ten days."
"Then we have ten days to figure this out."
We spent those days in creative frenzy—adjusting, rehearsing, perfecting. She'd dance; I'd watch for problems. I'd tweak; she'd test.
"We work well together," she observed.
"Design and movement. They're complementary."
"I meant us. As people."
"That too."
Carnival arrived like an explosion. The streets filled with color and sound and life.
Isabela danced like the costume was part of her—every movement showing off the work we'd done together. The crowd roared. The judges watched.
When they announced her as Queen, she ran straight to me.
"We won," she said, breathless.
"You won."
"We won." She kissed me in front of the cameras. "Now everyone knows."
The photos went viral. The scandal lasted about a week before everyone decided they loved us.
"Partners?" she asked after the parade.
"In what sense?"
"Every sense. Design, dance, life."
"That's a lot to take on."
"Carnival is about excess." She grinned. "Let's be excessive together."
We've built a company now—costumes and choreography, spectacle and substance. Every Carnival, we work side by side to create something impossible.
"Another year," she says each time.
"Another miracle," I reply.
"Same thing with you."
Carnival queen—where celebration becomes collaboration, and love dances through every parade.