Halloween is the one special night of the year, when witches, demons, spirits, and most importantly, navels come out of hiding, for all of the world to see. It’s a night to celebrate our inner stripper under the guise of holiday spirit. They say the purpose of Halloween is to dress as slutty as possible, because it’s the only night you’re uninhibited by other girls’ opinions. Bullshit. Girls are still going to form opinions, you just don’t feel bad about it. The real purpose of Halloween is to get attention. Coincidentally, the easiest way to do that is by being practically naked.
I think we’re going about it all wrong, though. When we get to the bar, there is no more attention on us than there is any other night, because every girl in the country has stepped her skank game up proportionately. There is so much T&A all over the place, that no one is going to notice yours. The only people who are getting that attention we’re looking for is the girls who are literally in underwear — and trust me, Halloween does not exempt them from the sideways glances — or the girls who did something that most of us are way too afraid to do. The girls who dress funny.
My senior year, a girl in my major dressed as milk for Halloween. Not slutty milk, not suggestive milk, just a straight up carton of milk. She’d taken a huge cardboard box and painted each side of it, complete with a missing child ad. Her friend dressed as a box of orange juice. The two of them, in their huge costumes, clumsily danced around all night, and all eyes were on them. They were hilarious. It was the best costume I’d seen. And it was like the wool had been pulled from over my eyes.
FUNNY.
It was genius. You want attention? All eyes are on you. You want to be memorable? Ask me how many slutty cops there were that year — now, how many cartons of milk were there? You want to seem like a cool, laid-back, fun person to be around? You got it. Do you think anyone could possibly hate the girl who went as milk? Fucking MILK. I was committed to the idea. The following year, I was going to be funny. It was going to be the best Halloween costume ever.
I considered buying a Gumby costume. With a big mask and loose body suit. It was going to be awesome. Who doesn’t love that weird claymation creature? But I started to second guess myself, when I realized that with my face and body completely covered, no one would know I was a girl. I was trying to be humorous, not grow a penis. I was having outfit remorse, and I was having it bad. Nothing is worse than putting your clothing on for the day, and then regretting it. It makes you uncomfortable from morning until night, and I couldn’t afford to have people think I was a boy, when I saw all my pretty friends prancing around wearing next to nothing beside me. I couldn’t do it. Gumby was out.
My next idea was to go as Mitt Romney’s dog, after the scandal had gotten out, that he allegedly rode with his pup on the roof of his car. I’d dress up like a dog from the waist up, and construct a car out of cardboard to wear around my waist. The license plate would say R-Money (obviously). That costume would kill. But you know what would make it better…if I made sure to wear something really tight and low cut. Perfect. A slutty Mitt Romney’s dog.
Eventually that costume devolved from slutty Mitt Romney’s dog, to slutty dog, to slut…like every costume I’ve ever had. I wouldn’t win Halloween that year, or any year. Here’s to the girls who can. Because to answer my own question: yes. Funny Halloween is undoubtedly better, and the girls who put aside their egos to do Halloween the right way are brave, and creative, and hilarious. I seriously envy their ability to dress as something asexual, that doesn’t reek of desperation for male attention. Unfortunately, I’m not one of them. I will be, once again, going as boobs this year, and after much deliberation, I’m okay with that.
Nice Move171
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Veronica Ruckh
Veronica (@VeronicaRuckh) is the Director of Total Sorority Move for Grandex, Inc. After having spent her undergraduate years drinking $4 double LITs on a patio and drunk texting away potential suitors, she managed to graduate with an impressive GPA and an unimpressive engagement ring -- so unimpressive, in fact, some might say it's not there at all. Veronica has since been fulfilling her duties as "America's big," a title she gave to herself with the help of her giant ego. She has recently switched from vodka to wine on weekdays. Email her at veronica@grandex.co
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