Banging out fangs

Matthew Edmonson wears prosthetic vampire fangs. Matthew Edmonson wears prosthetic vampire fangs the way you might wear a wristwatch. For the sake of his fledgling fang-making business, he hopes others will enjoy sporting the hyper-extended canines as much as he does.

"I wear mine about 90 percent of the time," said Mr. Edmonson who lost his job selling paint to contractors and now works security at an adult dance club in Fort Myers. "It's not what I want to be doing the rest of my life, but it's good steady work, which is a lot more than what a lot of people have right now."

Nevertheless, the job at a nightclub that sells fantasies in the form of gyrating female flesh seems appropriate for this man who himself straddles our world and the fictional world of the undead. Mr. Edmondson's bed is draped in black and red sheets, the walls adorned with posters of modern-day vampire lore; he enjoys films like "The Lost Boys" and the TV show "True Blood."

A couple of dancers at the nightclub where he works sport fangs, flashing their threatening smiles at surprised and often delighted patrons. One customer was so impressed he ordered his own set. "This guy was a white collar real estate entrepreneur in his 40s," said Mr. Edmonson. "He asked the girls where they had gotten them and they brought him over to me. I showed him mine and he thought it was the coolest thing he had seen. He wanted them right there."

COURTESY PHOTOS The fang-making kit is similar to what a dentist might use to fashion a set of dentures. Patrons bite down into a plastic mouthpiece filled with pliant plaster mush called alginate that conforms to their particular dental pattern. Edmonson disregards the rest of the mouth and focuses on the canines. He shapes the clump of material that sits at the top of the mold into a long gleaming tusk, customized for shape and sharpness. When the material hardens, the fang comes off the mold. It is a hollow acrylic cap that fits right onto one's existing tooth, slipping between natural gaps without the need for adhesive. Unlike a set of cheap Dracula teeth from the novelty store, the fangs look real and don't trigger an excessive salivary reflex, allowing the wearer to keep them on for long periods of time.

"I wouldn't recommend eating with them, but you can wear them out, smoke in them, drink in them."

Mr. Edmonson learned "fangsmithing" in New Jersey, just outside of New York City, where, according to him, the vampire and Goth lifestyle is much more prevalent. Throughout his late teens and 20s, he hung out with groups involved in vampire roleplaying games, similar to "Dungeons and Dragons." They met up at horror conventions and generally immersed themselves in a fantasy world by saying, doing and dressing the way a vampire might.

"Everybody has their thing," he says. "Some people like to go to the game every weekend or ride their motorcycle. (Vampire role-playing) is an escape from mundane life. You have lawyers, doctors, they work Monday through Friday, 9 to 5. They like to go out, dress up, escape and kick back."

More than any other horror motif, the vampire genre carries with it an undeniable sexual aura. For some, wearing fangs complements a fetish that usually involves biting and sometimes, drawing blood. Edmonson is quick to say that he doesn't recommend his fangs be used for that purpose.

The fang maker is actually demure about showing the creations he wears. When he speaks, he is able to obscure the teeth with his upper lip. At work at the nightclub, even when he encounters an unruly customer, he keeps the fangs hidden and instead uses his considerable size to intimidate.

"I try not to show them off," he said. Hidden behind his lips, however, the fangs feel just right. He admits that wearing them engenders a sense of strength for many people. For him, they are just a part of who he is and how he dresses. During the right circumstances, with people he feels comfortable with, he will flash his sharpened ivories. "I get a kick out of the shock value, and sure, there's an empowerment feeling to it," he said.

Mr. Edmonson isn't counting on his fangmaking side gig to pull him through the recession. If he can make a few extra bucks at it, he'll be satisfied. Eventually, he expects he'll leave the nightclub job and go back to selling construction materials when the market bounces back. When that happens, despite the collared shirt and pressed khakis, he'll still have his fangs, hiding right behind his salesman's grin.

A set of two teeth runs about $75. For more information, e-mail crypticsmiles@ yahoo.com or check out myspace.com/ crypticsmiles.