Business Is Going Swimmingly Again for Mermaids

“People are definitely making up for lost time,” said Raina Norman from the California Mermaid Convention, where mermaiding experts gave workshops, mermaids and mermen flipped their tails in a giant pool, and booths sold costumes and ocean-themed earrings.

Mermaid performers who struggled to stay afloat in the pandemic are riding a comeback wave. They are squeezing back into their silicone tails, diving into pools at birthday parties and performing underwater behind glass walls.

Ms. Norman, co-owner of Halifax Mermaids, a Halifax, Nova Scotia, firm that sends mermaid performers to events, says bookings have been pouring in since Covid restrictions lifted. Prepandemic, she would send one or two mermaids for about an hour for a party of about 20 participants.

Now, three or four mermaids will go to a party, performing at rates of 500 to 700 Canadian dollars ($386-$540), compared with about C$200 before, Ms. Norman says. “I think it’s the magic of escapism.”

At the Sacramento convention, Ms. Norman gave a workshop on the history of mermaiding, filmed a documentary and picked up some tails she couldn’t easily find in Halifax.

“I am trying to avoid burnout this year,” says Rebecca Hawk of Maryland, who is juggling mermaid performances at three Renaissance fairs, a haunted-house event and a flood of kiddie birthday parties.

The next big thing for merfolk is Coney Island’s Mermaid Parade in Brooklyn, N.Y., happening Saturday after a pandemic hiatus. The 40th annual parade—a “celebration of ancient mythology and honky-tonk rituals,” the organizer’s website says—features singer Justin Vivian Bond and former New York City Health Commissioner Dave Chokshi as the Queen Mermaid and King Neptune.

America’s first mermaid shows date to the 1940s. Women performed synchronized ballet moves underwater, while breathing through hoses hidden in the scenery, according to the website of the Weeki Wachee Springs State Park in Florida, the site of one of the nation’s first such shows. Later, performers started wearing tails and became popular for summer parties and outdoor events—until pandemic restrictions dampened such performances.

The tide isn’t turning just for mermaids, says Jacklyn Nagel, owner of Princess Parties of DC, a party-organizing company in Washington, D.C. She is inundated with bookings for multiple-character parties, with princesses, superheroes and, for a summer special, mermaids. “We’re probably twice as busy as we were before the pandemic,” she says.

Summer has traditionally been mermaid season, Ms. Nagel says and this summer is seeing pent-up demand. Community and hotel pools have reopened, she says, making mermaid bookings possible again.

Mermaids do face today’s economic realities: High demand for mer-tails is hitting supply-chain issues, says Eric Ducharme, owner of Mertailor, a tail maker in Lecanto, Fla.

Disruptions of materials like silicone have forced Mertailor to raise prices by up to 30%, Mr. Ducharme says. He shifted from making tails to making ocean-themed masks to stay open at the beginning of the pandemic.

Now he’s seeing demand rise for “entry-level” tails and has recently opened an aquarium with five full-time mermaids performing three times a day as part of his operations.

He has been so busy with the new aquarium that he has had to temporarily put more specialized tails on the back burner, including the $2,000 “Spellbound” model, which includes “realistic fluke designs.”

Mr. Ducharme, a longtime merman performer, says he wanted to be a merman since his sixth birthday, for which his father hired two mermaids who kissed him at his party. He plans to offer mermaid classes at the aquarium.

Training is necessary for proper mermaiding, says Ms. Hawk, the Maryland mermaid. She has about half a dozen certificates under her tail including two mermaid-specific ones, with training ranging from the basic mechanics of the kicks to spotting the signs of a shallow-water blackout, which can happen to free-divers if they don’t get enough oxygen.

She got a scuba certification at age 15 and was diving 99 feet before she could drive, she says.

“People think it’s easy and everyone wants to be a mermaid performer because they see the beautiful side of it,” she says. “But they don’t see just how physically demanding it is.”

At a March mer-conference in Virginia, MerMagic Con, Ms. Hawk, a trained special-effects makeup artist, taught a class to some of the nearly 1,000 participants about how to work with Dragon Skin silicone, an ocean-friendly material in mermaid tails.

Caitlyn Jennings, a swimming teacher by day and mermaid on weekends, spent an hour getting ready with her wig and waterproof makeup before going to a recent birthday party for a 5-year-old girl in the Washington, D.C., area.

She put her tail on before getting out of her car. A party-organizer employee carried her to the edge of the pool.

She sang with the kids, taught dance moves, then dove for toys in the pool. There was some swimming back and forth with the children, some rounds of “Mermaid Says” and a few relay races.

Ms. Jennings says she has six or seven bookings just for June, double what she would have prepandemic. In the fall, she hopes to attend a Florida mermaid retreat with other performers to get mermaid and free-dive certificates together.

With a theater-education degree, she says she finds more joy in mermaiding than performing onstage. “Honestly,” she says, “I get to be playful and silly along with the kids and nobody is judging me.”

Rachel Smith, co-founder of the California Mermaid Convention and a mermaid performer, says attendance at the Sacramento conference was at prepandemic levels of about 350 participants, a vibrant mix of performers, many from out of state or overseas, as well as hobbyists and families.

“This year it felt very open, really inclusive,” Ms. Smith said. “Merbabies, grandmeres, merfolk of every shape, size, color and gender identity; no matter what, there’s a place for them.”

Write to Liyan Qi at liyan.qi@wsj.com

“People are definitely making up for lost time,” said Raina Norman from the California Mermaid Convention, where mermaiding experts gave workshops, mermaids and mermen flipped their tails in a giant pool, and booths sold costumes and ocean-themed earrings.

Mermaid performers who struggled to stay afloat in the pandemic are riding a comeback wave. They are squeezing back into their silicone tails, diving into pools at birthday parties and performing underwater behind glass walls.

Ms. Norman, co-owner of Halifax Mermaids, a Halifax, Nova Scotia, firm that sends mermaid performers to events, says bookings have been pouring in since Covid restrictions lifted. Prepandemic, she would send one or two mermaids for about an hour for a party of about 20 participants.

Now, three or four mermaids will go to a party, performing at rates of 500 to 700 Canadian dollars ($386-$540), compared with about C$200 before, Ms. Norman says. “I think it’s the magic of escapism.”

At the Sacramento convention, Ms. Norman gave a workshop on the history of mermaiding, filmed a documentary and picked up some tails she couldn’t easily find in Halifax.

“I am trying to avoid burnout this year,” says Rebecca Hawk of Maryland, who is juggling mermaid performances at three Renaissance fairs, a haunted-house event and a flood of kiddie birthday parties.

The next big thing for merfolk is Coney Island’s Mermaid Parade in Brooklyn, N.Y., happening Saturday after a pandemic hiatus. The 40th annual parade—a “celebration of ancient mythology and honky-tonk rituals,” the organizer’s website says—features singer Justin Vivian Bond and former New York City Health Commissioner Dave Chokshi as the Queen Mermaid and King Neptune.

America’s first mermaid shows date to the 1940s. Women performed synchronized ballet moves underwater, while breathing through hoses hidden in the scenery, according to the website of the Weeki Wachee Springs State Park in Florida, the site of one of the nation’s first such shows. Later, performers started wearing tails and became popular for summer parties and outdoor events—until pandemic restrictions dampened such performances.

The tide isn’t turning just for mermaids, says Jacklyn Nagel, owner of Princess Parties of DC, a party-organizing company in Washington, D.C. She is inundated with bookings for multiple-character parties, with princesses, superheroes and, for a summer special, mermaids. “We’re probably twice as busy as we were before the pandemic,” she says.

Summer has traditionally been mermaid season, Ms. Nagel says and this summer is seeing pent-up demand. Community and hotel pools have reopened, she says, making mermaid bookings possible again.

Mermaids do face today’s economic realities: High demand for mer-tails is hitting supply-chain issues, says Eric Ducharme, owner of Mertailor, a tail maker in Lecanto, Fla.

Disruptions of materials like silicone have forced Mertailor to raise prices by up to 30%, Mr. Ducharme says. He shifted from making tails to making ocean-themed masks to stay open at the beginning of the pandemic.

Now he’s seeing demand rise for “entry-level” tails and has recently opened an aquarium with five full-time mermaids performing three times a day as part of his operations.

He has been so busy with the new aquarium that he has had to temporarily put more specialized tails on the back burner, including the $2,000 “Spellbound” model, which includes “realistic fluke designs.”

Mr. Ducharme, a longtime merman performer, says he wanted to be a merman since his sixth birthday, for which his father hired two mermaids who kissed him at his party. He plans to offer mermaid classes at the aquarium.

Training is necessary for proper mermaiding, says Ms. Hawk, the Maryland mermaid. She has about half a dozen certificates under her tail including two mermaid-specific ones, with training ranging from the basic mechanics of the kicks to spotting the signs of a shallow-water blackout, which can happen to free-divers if they don’t get enough oxygen.

She got a scuba certification at age 15 and was diving 99 feet before she could drive, she says.

“People think it’s easy and everyone wants to be a mermaid performer because they see the beautiful side of it,” she says. “But they don’t see just how physically demanding it is.”

At a March mer-conference in Virginia, MerMagic Con, Ms. Hawk, a trained special-effects makeup artist, taught a class to some of the nearly 1,000 participants about how to work with Dragon Skin silicone, an ocean-friendly material in mermaid tails.

Caitlyn Jennings, a swimming teacher by day and mermaid on weekends, spent an hour getting ready with her wig and waterproof makeup before going to a recent birthday party for a 5-year-old girl in the Washington, D.C., area.

She put her tail on before getting out of her car. A party-organizer employee carried her to the edge of the pool.

She sang with the kids, taught dance moves, then dove for toys in the pool. There was some swimming back and forth with the children, some rounds of “Mermaid Says” and a few relay races.

Ms. Jennings says she has six or seven bookings just for June, double what she would have prepandemic. In the fall, she hopes to attend a Florida mermaid retreat with other performers to get mermaid and free-dive certificates together.

With a theater-education degree, she says she finds more joy in mermaiding than performing onstage. “Honestly,” she says, “I get to be playful and silly along with the kids and nobody is judging me.”

Rachel Smith, co-founder of the California Mermaid Convention and a mermaid performer, says attendance at the Sacramento conference was at prepandemic levels of about 350 participants, a vibrant mix of performers, many from out of state or overseas, as well as hobbyists and families.

“This year it felt very open, really inclusive,” Ms. Smith said. “Merbabies, grandmeres, merfolk of every shape, size, color and gender identity; no matter what, there’s a place for them.”

Write to Liyan Qi at liyan.qi@wsj.com