I once felt making a Halloween costume each year was a chance to celebrate creativity, but nowadays, I greet it more with an eyeroll and a grumpy, “One more damn thing to do.” Are you into it? Or… not?
What is the best Halloween outfit you ever wore?
The earliest costume I remember was my worst. I wanted to be The Invisible Man. I was six, so not exactly a master of sewing. Neither were my mom and dad, but they tried.
This was before the days when every kid purchased a licensed cartoon character outfit, and before YouTube DIY videos. We were on our own!
Original, yes; functional, no
My dad found an old white button-up shirt he didn’t need. The collar could button closed above my head. He mounted cut cardboard on my scalp to provide “shoulders,” then twisted a wire coat hanger to suspend a baseball cap a foot above that. The effect was meant to look like a hat on an invisible head. They cut tiny eyeholes near the shirt’s pocket, so I could look out the “invisible man’s” chest.
As dusk fell on Halloween, anticipation filled me. I knew my breathtakingly original idea would put the generic fairies, princesses, and hobos to shame.
Except, the coat hanger and the hat could not balance when I walked, falling off repeatedly. Soon, we ditched the whole assembly. I would still look like a guy with no head. Good enough.
Except, the flimsy cardboard I wore on my head, rather than standing out to form David-Byrne-Talking Heads broad shoulders, drooped right next to my ears.
Except, I kept complaining I couldn’t see, so mom cut the eyeholes larger. Twice.
By the time I trick-or-treated, I was just a kid wearing a big saggy shirt buttoned over my head, peering through giant eyeholes. When grown-ups asked if I was a ghost, I explained I was the Invisible Man. Their faces expressed skepticism or pity, but never delight. The kids a grade or two above me, pirates and hobos all, mocked me.
My costume concept flopped. I burned with chagrin at the triumph of dumb clichés such as “I’m a cowboy” over my innovative idea, which I had proudly invented my own precious self.
My consolation: going door to door, I still got enough candy that, under my mom’s rationing, it lasted me until Thanksgiving.
CAN-SPAM Means Yes, I Can Spam!
The Halloween costume I had the most fun with arose decades later, when I worked in cybersecurity. I went as Email Spam. I wore a Hormel Spam hat and a sparkly bow tie, and accosted co-workers while spouting spam subject lines, such as “This Nigerian Prince has millions of dollars for you,” and “BOGO at Shoe Warehouse!” and “Donate before they destroy America.” In cybersecurity, everybody got the joke and countered with their own spam lines. Friends riffing off each other on the fly is one of life’s great joys.
For the crew in my Shadowfast books, Halloween lives year-round. Whether singer Rory Jordan poses as the psychic Queen of Shadows, or con man Quinn Richards sabotages a businessman by posing as the world’s most eccentric billionaire, they often experience the thrill of temporarily leasing a different persona. (The stakes are a little higher than a bag of candy, though; for example, world peace.)
So how about you? What was your best costume? Worst? Happiest? What Halloween memories does my memoir trigger?
For my global friends, happy Dia de los Muertos, Guy Fawkes Day, or All Saints Day. May you find joy in just being you! ##