For us gals, Halloween brings out the revealing-costume version of soldiers, bananas, puppies, alligators, juice boxes, etc. And hey, if you want to dress up in a revealing costume, do it. Why not? I’m not against the revealing. I will not judge you for the revealing. These outfits are typically referred to as “slutty,” but that’s not cool because who decides what qualifies as slutty and who said they could?
The problem is women have been taught our worth is in our ability to allure. When you’re with women dressed to allure, or who simply are alluring, and they’re getting attention and you notice you’re not, you will be sad you balked at the expectation to allure and came as a stupid devilled egg with horns on a headband and a white t-shirt with a yellow yolk on your stomach, instead of the revealing version of, say, a Ketchup bottle. Even though you won’t admit this and you fucking HATE that you care, because you’re smart and strong and confident and know you shouldn’t care, but craponastick you care.
Or maybe you don’t care and we should have coffee and you can teach me all about your Sexy-Game Jedi tricks, okay?
I for reals went as a devilled egg last year and did some kick-ass devil makeup, but beyond that my outfit was lame-o. I was on a pub-crawl and danced all night with strangers because the people I was with didn’t dance. One of the strangers said she appreciated my rejection of the expectation to dress in a revealing costume. I heard, “It’s awesome you’re cool with looking frumpy on a traditionally sexy night!” Sprinkled throughout the evening, my Sexy-Game instincts flared up when I spotted the revealing-costumed gals receiving attention. I felt like the Invisible Dumpy Devilled Egg in the corner.
But dancing made it all better. I don’t think I missed more than half a song. Dance with me?
Are the Sexy Games why I hate Halloween? Nah, I don’t think so; I was oblivious to them in Elementary School, and that’s when Halloween and I broke up. It was the year my mom dressed me like a witch and crafted from face putty the most convincing, warty witch nose. I was a homely kid and felt repellant on a good day; my green penis nose zapped my fight for cute.
Huh. That is a version of the Sexy Games, isn’t it? Interesting.
I don’t even like dressing up as something adorable, like a fairy. Dressing up period gives me hives. I can’t be bothered. Not even for work or your wedding or my funeral. Don’t dress me up for my funeral, okay? That blazer won’t go with my ashes.
Steve, however, is loopy for Halloween. He starts planning his costume mid-summer. He once spent a stupid amount of money on cowboy boots from Value Village for a John Wayne costume. He risked damaging his teeth with fang inserts for an incredibly convincing Edward Sullen. He was Doctor Horrible before Doctor Horrible was cool. Last year he was dead ringer for Kurt Cobain. This year he’s got the makings of a Ron Burgundy costume.
So far Emma is taking after Steve. I mean, she made me carve our pumpkin last night because Halloween spirit. Gah.
I grew up in Alberta where a Halloween costume has to account for being worn over a puffy winter jacket in minus something weather. There are kids who wear winter jackets over their costumes, but why? Plastic face masks held on by elastic also required thought. The year I was Snow White, my mask filled with mouth moisture and froze to my face, was melted by mouth moisture and froze to my face. Repeat ten city blocks.
Sometimes I wish I was more into it. Steve and Emma do make it look fun. The idea of coming up with a creative costume seems like a good idea until I follow the thought to gathering its parts. I don’t even like grocery shopping, you guys—and at least I can figure out where even the most oddball grocery item is with little effort.
So, in conclusion: I’m too lazy for Halloween. And Sexy Games.
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