Some people have Halloween costumes down to a tee.
Take my friend Eric, for instance. You could send him into any second-hand store in the D.C. metro area, and he would resurface in 10 minutes looking like a peewee football coach from 1985, complete with a trucker’s hat, aviators and the necessary velour track jacket name-tagged “Coach Holton,” a costume he debuted last year.
When I saw him walk into class in violently orange windbreaker pants last week, I knew we were in for another treat. I rolled my eyes and asked the necessary question: “What are you being for Halloween?”
Eric was seemingly shocked that I could have pasted together “Halloween costume” and “orange jumpsuit pants.”
“Well, I’ve decided to change it up this year. I’m being Geoff,” he said matter-of-factly.
I stared blankly. “Your goldfish?”
Then there are costumers like my friend Aishat, who rely on the cute factor. If it doesn’t drop jaws, then it’s a lame costume.
Aishat’s costume this year, which she had been planning since September, started with a stark, boxy university-issued lab coat that, by Oct. 31, had turned into a sexy surgeon’s outfit.
And then there’s me and my roommate Jen, who wait until the very last minute to pull together something presentable and find ourselves scouring friends’ closets and Value Village at 5 p.m. on Oct. 30, if we’re lucky.
The two of us have a matching tradition, which has arisen over the past three years, meaning whatever costume idea we decide upon must have room for two.
Two years ago we were ’80s girls, courtesy of my mom pack-ratting away some flamboyant windbreakers. Last year we were cowgirls, courtesy of Jen’s summer visit to Texas. This year, we were at a loss.
Halloween is one of the most important holidays on a college campus: It can solidify your reputation as the Mean Girls “skimpy lingerie and animal ears” stereotype, the normal “three-hole-punch Jim” guy, the pretty girl who can turn a lab coat into a sexy surgeon or the hilarious Halloween stuntman who can piece together “Coach Holton” at Goodwill.
As things began to come down to the wire last week, Jen and I ran our best idea by Aishat for approval.
“Lumberjacks?” she asked, flabbergasted. “So you’re going to wear oversized flannel shirts and work boots?”
“Well, we have to look legit.”
“But it’s not cute.”
In our defense, we weren’t going into D.C.; we weren’t even going to a bar in College Park. We were supposed to go to a friend’s party in the University View. How cute did she expect us to look?
“It’s Halloween — you have to look cute,” Aishat responded, obviously frustrated, and proceeded to show us some examples of “cute” lumberjills, wielding axes in cutoffs and low-cut plaid shirts.
Halloween is a tricky holiday. A costume is meant as a disguise, but in many ways, you are what you pretend to be on Halloween. Whether you like it or not, your Halloween costume says a lot about you.
So if you weren’t happy with what this year’s costume had to say, just remember: You have 363 more days to prepare for Halloween 2010.
Rachel Hare is a senior French and journalism major. She can be reached at hare at umdbk dot com.
