No photographer ever addressed our inner freak so directly, or mocked our fear of identification with other freaks so loudly. The Junior Interstate Ballroom Champions posing daintily behind their trophies, the skew-eyed woman in her Dame Edna glasses and rose hat, the eerily replicated triplets, the king and queen of the senior citizens' dance - all should be foolish, laughable, but they're not. Yet they're not normal, either (what is? asks Arbus). The young people are too old, the old ones too unselfconscious in their childish finery. The others are too made up, too naked, too short or too numerous.