Panic! At the Disco - Build God, Then We’ll Talk
posted January 26, 2025
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Come one, come all, to the last of this run of fashion subgenres! Just in time for me to run out of ideas.
In the ‘90s, this trend in music videos emerged: I call it “Welcome to the HAUNTED CARNIVAL.” Examples include but are not limited to Natalie Merchant, Primus, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, etc. I believe it was the resurgence in “freak show” aesthetics, which was a conglomeration of body-mods, counterculture, and vintage revival. Hole kind of spearheaded “broken doll” imagery, which was carried over thematically over the years: in abandoned farmhouses or factories or doctor’s offices, the flash-like camera over-exposure at the beginning of each new shot. The 2002 music video for Lady Marmalade was full-on Courtesan-core, and by the mid-2000s, albums such as Panic! At the Disco’s seminal A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out and the Killers’ Hot Fuss brought the world of “dark cabaret” to center stage (I think the video for Mr. Brightside could be slotted into this category).
On their 2007 tour, Panic! at the Disco went full Dark Carnival.
So the Dark Carnival is a bit of a pastiche. It is legible, though: uneasiness and psychedelia, misfits and outcasts, glamour and grime. The Dark Carnival girl appears to me as a constellation of moments. She exists simultaneously on several temporal planes: Victorian toys, ‘20s flapper makeup, ‘30s showgirl dresses, ‘90s alt rock, 2005 somewhere in Vegas. The big top tent she’s underneath is tattered and yellowed with time, decorated with hand-painted signs advertising Fortune Tellers and Three-Armed Ladies. Otherworldly. Dark Carnival is more than just a vibe, it’s truly a lifestyle, somewhere in between Steam Punk and Clown. Imagine being like Amanda Palmer and shaving off your eyebrows and then drawing them on like that every day. That’s commitment.
Shopping for clothes as a Dark Carnival Girl is more about taste and vision than brand. In a perfect world, she’d be able to buy all of the antique garments and accessories her heart desires. I personally like the flirty ruffles and sequins in vintage showgirl outfits, like costumes and can-can dresses. Gauzey, gossamer 1920s and ‘30s styles hearken back to bootlegging and flappery. Corsetry is expensive and uncomfortable, but you can find shirts that imply “corset” while still allowing yourself to exhale. Anything in red brocade will do. Military-inspired outerwear evokes ringbearers or marching bands, always fitted and full of attitude. In a nod to Emilie Autumn, red pinstripes brings the magic of a circus tent to any outfit, whether they’re on leggings, pantaloons, or collars. And why not carry along a creepy, probably-haunted doll to complete the look?
In the ‘90s, this trend in music videos emerged: I call it “Welcome to the HAUNTED CARNIVAL.” Examples include but are not limited to Natalie Merchant, Primus, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, etc. I believe it was the resurgence in “freak show” aesthetics, which was a conglomeration of body-mods, counterculture, and vintage revival. Hole kind of spearheaded “broken doll” imagery, which was carried over thematically over the years: in abandoned farmhouses or factories or doctor’s offices, the flash-like camera over-exposure at the beginning of each new shot. The 2002 music video for Lady Marmalade was full-on Courtesan-core, and by the mid-2000s, albums such as Panic! At the Disco’s seminal A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out and the Killers’ Hot Fuss brought the world of “dark cabaret” to center stage (I think the video for Mr. Brightside could be slotted into this category).
So the Dark Carnival is a bit of a pastiche. It is legible, though: uneasiness and psychedelia, misfits and outcasts, glamour and grime. The Dark Carnival girl appears to me as a constellation of moments. She exists simultaneously on several temporal planes: Victorian toys, ‘20s flapper makeup, ‘30s showgirl dresses, ‘90s alt rock, 2005 somewhere in Vegas. The big top tent she’s underneath is tattered and yellowed with time, decorated with hand-painted signs advertising Fortune Tellers and Three-Armed Ladies. Otherworldly. Dark Carnival is more than just a vibe, it’s truly a lifestyle, somewhere in between Steam Punk and Clown. Imagine being like Amanda Palmer and shaving off your eyebrows and then drawing them on like that every day. That’s commitment.
Muses: Emilie Autumn, Nicole Kidman as Satine in Moulin Rouge, various vintage sideshow ladies.
Shopping for clothes as a Dark Carnival Girl is more about taste and vision than brand. In a perfect world, she’d be able to buy all of the antique garments and accessories her heart desires. I personally like the flirty ruffles and sequins in vintage showgirl outfits, like costumes and can-can dresses. Gauzey, gossamer 1920s and ‘30s styles hearken back to bootlegging and flappery. Corsetry is expensive and uncomfortable, but you can find shirts that imply “corset” while still allowing yourself to exhale. Anything in red brocade will do. Military-inspired outerwear evokes ringbearers or marching bands, always fitted and full of attitude. In a nod to Emilie Autumn, red pinstripes brings the magic of a circus tent to any outfit, whether they’re on leggings, pantaloons, or collars. And why not carry along a creepy, probably-haunted doll to complete the look?
My favorite thing about the Dark Carnival Girl is how she’s creepy and sexy. Not indiscernibly creepy like the Liminal Baddie; something sharper, less coy. More confronting and less self-conscious. The circus is all about performance, toeing the line between “family-friendly” and seedy underworld. What is it about the glow of incandescent bulbs on a hazy night, or the clicking, stuttered movements of a rusted automaton? Pictures of old glass bottles used to hold poison or medicine, keepsakes and ephemera from attractions, clown figurines that seem to stare at you? They’re not comforting—in fact, kind of the opposite. But the most interesting parts of the past aren’t the luxuries and easy times, it’s the weird shit. Dark Carnival is beauty stylized into something almost grotesque, the reflection in a funhouse mirror. Magic and excitement with the patina of something left to rot in the elements (present-day Circus Circus perhaps?). Come one, come all is more than just a carnival barker’s refrain. Freaks, weirdos, sleazebags. They’re all welcome here.