Fin-tastic dive: Tabora swimming in her mermaid suit while conducting a mermaiding class in Mabini, the Philippines. — AP
There was a pivotal moment in Queen Pangke Tabora’s life that eclipsed all others: It was the moment, she says, when she first slid her legs into a mermaid tail.
For the transgender Filipina woman approaching middle age, seeing her legs encased in vibrant, scaly-looking neoprene three years ago was the realisation of a childhood dream. And it marked the beginning of her immersion into a watery world where she would find acceptance. The former insurance worker described the experience of gliding under water, half-human and half-fish, as “meditation in motion”.
“The feeling was mermai-zing,” Tabora said one morning while lounging in a fiery red tail on a rocky beach south of Manila, where she now teaches mermaiding and freediving full-time. “The world outside is really noisy and you will find peace under water. It’s a good skill in the real world, especially during the pandemic.”
Across the world, there are thousands more merfolk like her – humans of all shapes, genders and backgrounds who enjoy dressing up as mermaids. In recent years, a growing number have gleefully flocked to mermaid conventions and competitions, formed local groups called “pods”, and poured their savings into a multimillion-dollar mermaid tail industry.
On a planet plagued by war, disease and social upheaval, many merfolk have found life in the water a refuge. Perhaps Sebastian, the ornery crab in the 1989 film The Little Mermaid, said it best in his warning to land-loving mermaid Ariel: “The human world, it’s a mess. Life under the sea is better than anything they got up there!”
Away from the critics and chaos of life on land, mer-world is the kinder, gentler and more joyful alternative to the real world. It is also a world, merfolk say, where you can be whoever and whatever you want.
That openness attracts some transgender people who empathise with Ariel’s agony of being trapped in a body that feels wrong. It is also inspiring to merfolk like Che Monique, the Washington DC-based founder of the Society of Fat Mermaids, which promotes body-positive mermaiding.
“I’m a 300-pound, over 35, black mermaid in America and hopefully that tells (people) they can do whatever they want to do,” says Monique, whose group sells shirts that read “Fat mermaids make waves” and “Gender is fluid under the sea”.
“Sure, on the one hand it is really silly, but I’ve watched it change people’s lives.”
After all, the ocean is vast, she notes, and most of the planet is covered in water. So why not dive in?
“I think there’s room under the sea for all of us,” Monique says.
The lure of mermaiding is clear from the Montreal home of Marielle Henault, which is stuffed to the gills with mermaid tails.
“When you put your mermaid tail on at the beach or pool, you become a superstar,” says the AquaMermaid CEO, whose company runs mermaiding schools across Canada and the United States. “Kids and adults – everybody’s happy to see a mermaid!”
When mermaiding first started to catch on, most tails for sale were custom-made silicone creations that weigh up to 23kg, cost upwards of US$6,000 (RM26,408.50) and take a surprising amount of time and lubricant to wrestle into.
But over the past few years, the increasing availability of cheaper, lighter fabric options opened up mermaiding to the wider public.
As mermaiding went mainstream, glamorous photos of mermaids resplendent in glitzy tails began gaining traction on social media, further fuelling mer-mania. An obsession with The Little Mermaid is common among merfolk, and there is anticipation of a fresh wave of mermaiding interest when a live action reboot of the film is released next year. — AP
