Camp is not a natural mode of sensibility, if there be any such. Indeed the essence of camp is its love of the unnatural: of artifice & exaggeration.*
Camp is a woman walking around in a dress made of 3million feathers. A refusal to grow up. A question mark that won’t let it’s line be straightened into an exclamation point.
Camp is a sensibility that among other things, converts the serious into the frivolous.
The hallmark of camp is the spirit of extravagance.
*All quotes from Susan Sontag, Notes on “Camp”, 1964