“Halloween is the one night a year when girls can dress like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it.” Although Lindsay Lohan may be a crack addict, the wisdom of her classic Mean Girls quote is indisputable. In fact, it’s a societal expectation. It is imperative for every woman, slut or school girl, to have one night—or one four-day weekend—to unleash her Freudian unconscious and thus, her inner whore. As the festivities of Halloween wane, every respectable woman washes away her makeup and neatly tucks away her fishnets for next year, cleansed of the raptures of candy corn, alcohol and flesh.
Graphic by Rebecca Morales
Oh, the joys of Halloween. As autumn seeps into the air, the dormant skank in all of us quietly stirs, as we solemnly debate and decide on a costume. The residual dark circles of mid-terms week are bedazzled with glitter and contoured into inky cat eyes. Inflated, unruly hair that is normally frowned upon is fawned over. Swathed in faux leather and cheap fabric, we strut around in our booty shorts and high heels, in hopes of emulating the likes of Beyonce, Giselle or Kesha. From a foreign, or perhaps, more mature perspective, we look absolutely trashy.
This is true.
Just as we grow older, our conceptions of appropriate Halloween attire mature—or degenerate. As children, we don our Disney Princess tiaras, light sabers and pirate swords, anticipating a night of innocent fantasy, bright lights and candy. As young adults, the concepts of Halloween are all the same, just tainted with the more carnal and debased reality that is college life. The gentle flickering candle light of jack-o-lanterns is replaced with seizure-inducing strove lights; instead of bobbing for apples, your head is dizzy from green apple vodka; and rather than walking home from trick or treating in your princess slippers, scared by ghosts and skeletons, you are walking home from Prana in teetering high heels, scared by drunks and homeless men. The disparity is clear and yet, Halloween is still magical.
I’ve seen a plethora of costumes this Halloween, the majority of which were superb. Super heroes were quite popular this year: Batman, Spiderman, Captain America, the Green Lantern and Superman, to list a few. Meandering through the clubs, I’ve seen so many Marios, Warios and Luigis, along with a decent amount of Ke$has, Katy Perrys and Lady Gagas. Bumblebee girl looked precious. To the person dressed as a peanut, you were fantastic. To the creeper dressed as an old woman, my conservative father did not appreciate the condoms you handed out in lieu of candy.
To all the cowgirls, Indians and cats, I applaud your originality. To all the male strippers and swimmers, I applaud your stomachs. I tip my hat to a friend who spent over $60 in blue body paint to become an Avatar for a night.
But for most of the student body, money is an issue: we look for the cheapest costume at Party City, and a lot of times that costume entails more skin than fabric. But never fear, Halloween is the one time a year when nudity is publicly accepted.
The problem is what to do with your costume afterward. You could stash it away until next year, but you’re not going to wear the same costume twice; this is a capitalist country. For a lot of girls, your costume looks strikingly similar to a prostitute’s uniform; however, prostitution is frowned upon. Instead, compose a costume out of a majority of your closet: use your black high heels and booty shorts, then wear a black towel as a cape. Buy a Batman t-shirt and a mask. Another viable option is piecing together a costume from apparel bought at a resale shop: it looks authentic and is ridiculously cheap. Rather than buying your costume three days before Halloween, buy it right afterward. Sure, you’re 364 days ahead of schedule, but all of the costumes will be 90 percent off.
As children, we never had to concern ourselves with the realities of costume costs and clubbing: Halloween was a time to let go of reality and embrace a playful sense of
Graphic by Rebecca Morales
fantasy. And it still is. Perhaps that sense of letting go has been misconstrued into getting belligerently drunk and dressing like a skank; regardless, Halloween is just as scary and thrilling now as it was then. The only thing lost is our innocence. Clumsily strapping on my patent leather heels and applying my Ke$ha glitter, I can catch a glimmer of that little Disney Princess of my past, stumbling about in Cinderella slippers and fairy dust. My sense of grace has not changed. Nor has my love for Halloween.
Katelyn Edwards can be reached at katelyn.edwards@spartans.ut.edu.
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