To his credit, this gentleman seemed perfectly friendly (I stood a couple feet over from him in Hyde Park prior to the parade). However, I was amazed at the amount of work that went into his getting dressed before the parade started: remove nipple rings, place metal discs over areolae, replace nipple rings, put on harness, enlist accomplices to lace up bowler's wrist supports, insert tribal (bone?) item into septum piercing, put on stereotypically gay male fetishy leather dog collar, find Wagnerian opera singer hat... and lo and behold you look nothing like a Bear, but rather an outtake from an Asterix comic.
I'm still sticking by my belief that these Bears shouldn't be so fucking fussy about everything. Keep it simple. A major reason I decided not to march with these guys was simply because so many of them were dressed up in such improbable outfits. To each his own, but seriously, one more pair of backless trousers, one more miniscule G-string, one more glittery codpiece, one more Celtic tattoo and I'm gonna hurl.
To paraphrase Whitman:
Getups and costumes for foofooes, for me freckles and a bristling beard.