Let Halloween be about the kids this year
That certain eerie time is upon us once again. Ghouls peer from the shadows, demons haunt our homes, and vampires invade our lives. No, I’m not talking about the election ads on TV, but about Halloween.
Halloween used to be a special time for me. I remember plucking a costume from the rack at Kmart, seeing Count Scary and Elvira pop up on TV, and consuming enough candy to choke a diabetic. Even when I was well past the age of going door-to-door in the middle of the night begging for food (except for that one time in college after spending an entire evening at a bar in Redford — don’t ask), I still loved Halloween. I loved the horror movies, the decorations, all of it.
But frankly, in recent years, all of the fun has been sucked dry like a victim trapped inside of Dracula’s castle.
So, let me ask a simple question: When did Halloween become geared toward mostly adults?
Furthermore, when did the female fraction of these adults feel the unyielding need to dress up in something directly from a Hugh Hefner fever dream? Honestly, but do we seriously need a “sexy” version of every profession imaginable? Sexy nurse. Sexy cop. Sexy firefighter. Sexy car mechanic. Sexy Santa’s elf. Sexy ax murderer.
And the most confounding of all: Sexy Hogwarts Student. Yes, this is an actual costume that you can find it at your local Halloween store, and this one is especially confounding for two main reasons. Seeing that Potter and the rest of the characters that attend Hogwarts are children, it’s a little creepy. (Okay, it’s a lot creepy. Okay, it’s a lot, lot, lot creepy.)
I’m not saying that women shouldn’t feel free to dress any way they want, but let’s be realistic about the whole thing.
Halloween should primarily be about kids having fun, and there are a few other ways where women can wear questionable clothing and be an embarrassment to their mothers throughout the remainder of the year. One could attend Mardi Gras festivities in New Orleans, for example, or go to the St. Patrick’s Day parade in Chicago and drink enough beer to make Homer Simpson shudder.
Or, hey, save yourself some airfare and some strain on your liver and just be a Cleveland Browns fan. That’ll be enough to make your mother hide her face in shame.
All I’m saying is that maybe this year we adults can hold off on looking as if we’re attending a strip tease and let the kids be kids.
After all, they have plenty of time to grow up and make as many stupid decisions as we have. And that, friends, is the real horror story.
Mike McHone is a Detroit-area freelance writer.
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