I’ve always loved Halloween. Dressing up has been, and forever will be, one of my favorite activities.
My mom always taught me to bring a certain level of commitment to the Halloween experience. I owe all of the creative blood rushing through my veins to her. Who else would spend two hours applying prosthetic skin to her daughter’s face and then artistically peel it in
in order to fulfill a dream of becoming a Glitz Zombie?
While my mom doesn’t hold my hand through the process (as much) anymore, I still really like Halloween.
I like putting together something fun and walking down a random street to some random house party and telling some random people that I love their Wizard of Oz group costume — except their Cowardly Lion, who didn’t even have a tail. I took offense as I believe I would be the Cowardly Lion in my friend group, and let’s just say, I would at the very least wear a tail.
As it’s well into October, I have been hearing murmurs of people’s costumes for this year. A man walking down the street told the girl he was with that he and his dog are going to be Scooby Doo and Shaggy — but since it’s not obvious, I should mention that the dog will be the Shaggy of the equation.
Later that day, on the train, a little girl and her mother spoke to someone on the phone telling them that they are going to be witches. The mom was quick to tell Mimi that she will be carrying around a thermos of wine and calling it her “magic potion.” I wonder if she knew that she revealed to everyone on the train what the “magic potion” truly is.
Of course, we probably won’t see her Halloween night and thus won’t give it away. And, there is also the question of how many people other than myself were eavesdropping. That is always the lingering question, isn’t it?
Am I the only one left to wonder what Mimi wants to be for Halloween?
The other question is, why do they want to be those things for Halloween? These days, I get ideas from my friends. Last year we were spies. Well, we all had squirt guns and ear pieces and wore black in the form of bodysuits or leather skirts or LBDs (Little Black Dresses. Don’t forget about that acronym. It’s useful. If I could guarantee you knew it I wouldn’t have to write this part).
Some people knew we were spies. Some people thought we were security guards, Secret Service and the like. Regardless, we liked the costume. And we felt confident in what we were wearing, even though a black romper with no jacket naturally results in quite a few goosebumps. In the weeks leading up to the “big day” (usually the Friday near Halloween, who cares if it’s the 31st when you’re not trick or treating), I wonder if I’m being creative enough.
Sometimes, I wish I were still the little girl whose mom was there to braid her Wednesday Adams wig before sending her off to get some candy. No one even knew who I was that Halloween. But it didn’t matter. The costume was killer.
Through all the doubt, year after year, I walk the streets (suburban or Commonwealth Avenue) in something I’ve spent a bit too much money on and have some jack-o-lovin’ fun.
That’s the point, anyways. It doesn’t matter if your mascara is running or if your toga keeps falling down (not in a revealing way, hopefully, but just in an annoying “ugh, I have to pull my toga up again” way).
And it’s because dressing up is, and always will be, the most fun ever.
Halloween lets you be that character from your new favorite TV show that you have a really strange parasocial relationship with (boys, please let it be Carmy from “The Bear” this year). It allows you to escape the way you’re normally seen for a second and be the Spiderman version of yourself or the sexy-spy version of yourself or a lion without a tail (I mean seriously, in what world would you dress up as the Cowardly Lion and not put on a tail?!).
But it’s not about hiding behind the costume, it’s about showing something about yourself.
Scooby Doo Man wants to impress the girl he was talking to with his humor. “The dog is the human and the human is the dog!” People are going to love that! You could throw it in a metal bowl on the floor and they would gobble it right up!
The Witch Mom is going to be known as the adorable mom who dressed up with her kid. And the other moms in the neighborhood are going to recognize how clever she is for calling her Sauvignon Blanc her “magic potion.” She’ll be a legend for Halloweens to come! And this year, when I dress up like a deranged puppet, I can show people that I can be mysterious and broody. Even though I smile whenever I see a baby and I cry at videos of lost dogs being found by their owners.
First impressions are hard. How is someone going to be able to know you at first sight? How could the general public possibly understand how much you care about the Marvel Universe and that Robert Downey Jr. is your idol when you’re just wearing your jeans and white T-Shirt on some random Tuesday in September?
Well, maybe that’s why Halloween was made. People just wanted one night where they could show off the part of themselves that they want to be seen and appreciated. Because some dude, in his jeans and white t-shirt on the 31st of October of some year, said, “You know what? I wish people knew how much I like Iron Man so that I can bond with someone about the Marvel Universe and get complimented on my knowledge of Robert Downey Jr. fun facts.”
It’s about being a 21-year-old girl and playing dress up like you’re still eight years old and your mom is making you wear long underwear under your cheerleader costume because it’s exceptionally cold this Halloween.
Maybe I should invest in long underwear again. I never did get goosebumps back then. I was just prepared. Prepared and prowling the streets for some full-sized packs of Skittles.
