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An interview in the New York Post about Father Sebastiaan, a professional “fangsmith,” who lives and works in New York City and in Paris.
If you want to interview Father Sebastiaan, a professional “fangsmith,” you must first submit to a fitting for a custom pair of fangs. This is non-negotiable.
“Everybody gets fangs!” he says cheerfully, wearing a full-length leather apron and sitting back in his little alcove at Halloween Adventure on Fourth Avenue near Union Square, which has been his work space for the last 16 years. “Everybody,” he adds with mischievous relish.
Fangsmithing — the art of creating artificial incisors for vampire aficionados — is a trade that Sebastiaan has practiced since 1994. You could say that fangs run in the family; both his grandfather and aunt were dentists.
“You wouldn’t believe who I’ve fanged,” he says, brushing off his apron and preparing glue. “Detectives in the NYPD, lawyers, computer engineers and — I can’t say much more than this — but I’ve made fangs for granddaughters of presidents. I’ve made fangs for lawyers of presidents and their kids.”
Even “Twilight” actress Ashley Greene, who Sebastiaan met in Chicago three years ago. Sure, she plays Alice Cullen in the most successful vampire franchise of all time, but none of Stephenie Meyer’s vampires have fangs.
“She told me, ‘I took this role because I wanted fangs, and now I can’t have fangs!’ ” So Sebastiaan made her a pair. “There are pictures of [her] on Facebook, but most of my customers are more confidential.”
Sebastiaan, who says he’s in his “mid-30s,” first became fascinated by vampires while reading Anne Rice books at age 9. As a teenager, he got deeper into the Gothic subculture through a Dungeons & Dragons-like, pre-Internet role-playing game called Vampire: The Masquerade. He enjoyed it, until he realized that he wanted something deeper. Something real.
“I realized this was a lifestyle, not a game, for me,” he said. “I was looking for other people with the same spirit as I had. You know: libertine, loves life — and the archetype that really fit was the vampyre.”
If you’re wondering about the spelling: modern vamps immersed in the subculture prefer to spell it with a “y” — an archaic spelling found in one of the first fang-lit bestsellers, 1819’s British novella “The Vampyre.”
“People have different interpretations, but for us, vampyre with a ‘y’ means a person who adheres to the virtues of the vampyre.”
Many of those virtues are explained in his new book, “Vampyre Virtues: The Red Veils.” One weird vampire trait? They’re patriots!
“A lot of us are very neutral politically,” he says. “But we are about being Americans and patriots, and we love our country. We live and love in loyalty — those are two of our biggest virtues.”
Born in San Diego, young Sebastiaan was a Navy brat, bouncing between Dubai, London and New Jersey before getting his first dose of true spirituality at a Quaker boarding school in Philadelphia. “Quakerism is so simple,” he says. “You live a simple life, but you live an epic life.” Being a vampire, he says, is “more of a philosophy” and doesn’t conflict with being a Quaker.
Which leads to a big misconception about vampires that Sebastiaan would like to clear up: Satan worship. “Only a very small faction are Satanists,” he says. “I’ve made fangs for priests, for rabbis, for Protestants, for Catholics, for Muslims. . .”
(But that’s not to say all vampyres get along. Sebastiaan asked that his real name not be printed, out of concern that his enemies in the community might harass his family.)
After high school, Sebastiaan’s family connections got him an apprenticeship as a dental technician, one he wanted solely because it allowed him to practice making fangs after work. Meanwhile, he found kindred spirits in the NYC club scene. By 1994, he was working at the storied nightclub Limelight, located in a deconsecrated church, where he made fangs for club kids and would-be vampires out of a little room.
He’s since become a nexus of the vampyre community — from New York to New Orleans to France, where he spends part of the year. Sebastiaan’s followers gather for parties, flirtation and fellowship. But not for blood. That, he says, is actually frowned upon. It’s a major misunderstanding that “we all drink blood,” he says. “Blood is metaphorical for most of us” as a symbol for life.
“Of course there are some people who do it, but they’re usually monogamous couples and they’ve been together for years, and they know it’s a [sexual] fetish.” Even then, “it’s taboo in the vampyre subculture. Because you’re damaging someone else’s physical body by doing that, and to do it safely is nearly impossible.”
But what about the current generation of bloodsuckers on TV and in movie theaters? “Twilight” and “True Blood” and their many knockoffs have mainstreamed vampires in all their forms — and spellings. “I think they’re great” he says of the pop-culture trend. They “show the beauty of the vampyre archetype. Plus, ‘True Blood’ is amazing!”
Most of his vampire friends and fang customers, however, relate not to Bela Lugosi but movies like “Fight Club” and “The Matrix.” “I think it’s because once you get the fangs, it’s kind of like you’ve gone through some weird initiation.”
Sebastiaan fitted me with long-and-pointy “Lilith” style fangs (the razor-sharp “Beasts” seemed too aggressive), crafting the two separate caps from dental acrylic. He fits them so they pop perfectly over my incisors.
“I can make no more than 10 a day,” Sebastiaan says of the prosthetics, which cost between $99 and $399, depending on how many pairs you want. “Because I want to keep the quality. I’m a perfectionist. And I want to really bond with the customer.”
On cue, he proffers a bottle of absinthe and pours two cups, mixing it with cold water to create the jade-green color.
Once the fangs have been fitted, a lovely French girl named Vili gives them a final polish. Sebastiaan calls her his “nurse.”
“Don’t eat with them in, but you can drink, smoke, and do whatever else you want with them on,” she says with a giggle.
Another pair of fangs completed, it’s time for Sebastiaan to break for lunch. He’s been thinking about the bacon cheeseburger next door all day. “It’s the best one I’d ever had in my life,” he says, practically salivating over the thought. “Oh my God. It’s vampyre food.”
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