As you might imagine, Halloween is one of my favorite holidays. Eh, who am I kidding? It's the best holiday out there! I've found, though, that I'm not the costumer I used to be.
Back when I was really little, my Halloween costume of choice would often be whatever my sister was going to dress up as. When I got a little older and my sister threatened to beat me up if I didn't stop copying her, my mother foolishly chimed in that she could sew me a costume, and I could pick anything in the world to be. That sounded like a challenge, one I was willing to accept. My mom had to whip up some crazy costumes over the years, from a frog to Wonder Woman to Davy Crockett. (Admirably, Mom always came through.)
As a young adult, my main goal was to look good. But not cheap—there would be no stupid sexy nurse, or sexy vampire, or sexy schoolgirl outfits in my Halloween wardrobe. I was a Mouseketeer one year (the short skirt showed off my legs) and Monica Seles the next (tennis skirt). Eventually, though ... well, like I said, things changed as the years passed.
Once you no longer care what you look like as long as it's funny, I really started getting into the holiday. On Block Island, my friend Lisa and I went one year as Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley; another year, we were a no smoking sign and a pack of cigarettes. I even managed one October to rig up an elaborate bird's nest, complete with a beak and a flying #1 over my head—get it? One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest? ... Okay, yeah, it was a lot of work with very little payoff. And after I moved back to the mainland, I realized I was kind of tired of the work. I mean, my mother was a saint for sewing those costumes. But there had to be an easier way.
I've now entered what can only be called my Lazy Halloween years. I started looking for—gasp!—premade costumes.
Oh, it's not all that premade. I have a replica 1919 Chicago White Sox jersey in my closet, so I threw that on one year with store-bought slippers that looked like giant bare feet, and I was Shoeless Joe Jackson. Another time I found a sparkly silver dress at a consignment shop for ten bucks, so I peroxided my hair and went as Marilyn Monroe. Last year, I combed out my old Gene Simmons wig, bought a long black dress, and (confession time: I've turned into my mother) sewed a little Cousin Itt to become Morticia Addams.
I found myself this year working in an office that perhaps might frown upon wearing costumes on Halloween. (I say this because when I asked my boss if it was okay to dress up, he frowned.) I was going to have to tone it down. I tried to keep it tasteful, and wore a skull-painted shirt, skull-and-crossbones leggings, and a sparkly spider necklace with matching earrings. There was no last-minute sewing to get Cousin Itt's hair just right, no frantic run to the store to get more peroxide because my hair wasn't quite bleached enough. I felt kind of ... normal. Understated. Like I'd given up on the best holiday in the world.
When I showed up to work on Halloween, everyone was in professional business attire. Sure, one coworker wore an orange scarf to go with her tailored black suit, but that was it. It was just me and the I.T. guy (he had a moving eyeball peeking out through a rip in his shirt, god bless him) looking like two freaks in a sea of grown-ups. There were many strange looks and finger-pointing.
That's right, I thought. Still got it. Because it turns out seriously toned down for me is still, well, pretty darn Halloweeny.
Back when I was really little, my Halloween costume of choice would often be whatever my sister was going to dress up as. When I got a little older and my sister threatened to beat me up if I didn't stop copying her, my mother foolishly chimed in that she could sew me a costume, and I could pick anything in the world to be. That sounded like a challenge, one I was willing to accept. My mom had to whip up some crazy costumes over the years, from a frog to Wonder Woman to Davy Crockett. (Admirably, Mom always came through.)
As a young adult, my main goal was to look good. But not cheap—there would be no stupid sexy nurse, or sexy vampire, or sexy schoolgirl outfits in my Halloween wardrobe. I was a Mouseketeer one year (the short skirt showed off my legs) and Monica Seles the next (tennis skirt). Eventually, though ... well, like I said, things changed as the years passed.
Once you no longer care what you look like as long as it's funny, I really started getting into the holiday. On Block Island, my friend Lisa and I went one year as Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley; another year, we were a no smoking sign and a pack of cigarettes. I even managed one October to rig up an elaborate bird's nest, complete with a beak and a flying #1 over my head—get it? One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest? ... Okay, yeah, it was a lot of work with very little payoff. And after I moved back to the mainland, I realized I was kind of tired of the work. I mean, my mother was a saint for sewing those costumes. But there had to be an easier way.
I've now entered what can only be called my Lazy Halloween years. I started looking for—gasp!—premade costumes.
Oh, it's not all that premade. I have a replica 1919 Chicago White Sox jersey in my closet, so I threw that on one year with store-bought slippers that looked like giant bare feet, and I was Shoeless Joe Jackson. Another time I found a sparkly silver dress at a consignment shop for ten bucks, so I peroxided my hair and went as Marilyn Monroe. Last year, I combed out my old Gene Simmons wig, bought a long black dress, and (confession time: I've turned into my mother) sewed a little Cousin Itt to become Morticia Addams.
I found myself this year working in an office that perhaps might frown upon wearing costumes on Halloween. (I say this because when I asked my boss if it was okay to dress up, he frowned.) I was going to have to tone it down. I tried to keep it tasteful, and wore a skull-painted shirt, skull-and-crossbones leggings, and a sparkly spider necklace with matching earrings. There was no last-minute sewing to get Cousin Itt's hair just right, no frantic run to the store to get more peroxide because my hair wasn't quite bleached enough. I felt kind of ... normal. Understated. Like I'd given up on the best holiday in the world.
When I showed up to work on Halloween, everyone was in professional business attire. Sure, one coworker wore an orange scarf to go with her tailored black suit, but that was it. It was just me and the I.T. guy (he had a moving eyeball peeking out through a rip in his shirt, god bless him) looking like two freaks in a sea of grown-ups. There were many strange looks and finger-pointing.
That's right, I thought. Still got it. Because it turns out seriously toned down for me is still, well, pretty darn Halloweeny.
Unfortunately, I didn't get a picture of this year's getup. I offer you one surprisingly labor-intensive miniature Cousin Itt instead.
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