Why I Hate Halloween

I really dislike Halloween, and for a man my age, an American and all, that is a rare thing to hear. For most adults, Halloween is awesome: a chance to dress up and party, looking like someone else. The creative among us will try and find the best, most relevant costume possible to attract the quiet admiration of those around us. Sounds like fun, sure.

But, I hate Halloween for the same reason I hate Valentine's Day: it's a day where people decide they can do something, and they are totally validated in that decision, and can refrain from doing that thing throughout the rest of the year.

Valentine's day is horrible; it's forced affection. Now, that alone, forcing us to love one another, is not a terrible thing in and of itself. The more love we can get in this world, the better. The problem here is that the love should not just be shown on the 14th of February. We should love each other all the time. Every day. I don't like the idea that someone can show me affection on one day, and that will be the extent of the affection shown. I want to be treated tenderly from my significant other every day of my life.

Plus, I don't like feeling that if I fail to materialistically fawn upon my loved one that I am a failure. I am a very generous person, often buying things I see for the people I care about. Just because I happen to or fail to on that one specific day does not make me a bad person. Really, what is so special about the 14th of February that deserves to be honored by presents? Nothing. Unless you count the slaughter of seven gang members in Chicago a worthy occasion.

Halloween is a similar case, but with less happy feelings associated. Halloween is an opportunity for women to wear their underwear outside. With the rise of the Sexy costume, wherein the wearer looks like a sexy version of anything - Sexy Cop, Sexy Nun, Sexy Snow White, even Sexy Picacchu (which, after Comic Con, I have seen enough of for my life) - women, particularly, are wearing less and less outside. Some will go as far as to wear lingerie, a set of cloth wings, and go as a fairy/angel/person in underwear and wings. And no one seems to raise much of an objection.

Now, wear one of these costumes to, say, the grocery store in August, and you will get some looks. People will talk. Mothers will avert their children's eyes. You may be asked to leave a family establishment so people can enjoy their food without looking at your underwear. But, for a few hours on Halloween, it's okay.

This is not a costume: this is an advertisement, and one that might not accurately represent the wearer. The clothing that we wear sends a signal to everyone around us. Clothing is a densely packed rhetorical act that speaks clearly of our likes, associations, interests, social class, and general attitudes towards the world. See a kid decked in black, long dark trench coat in the summer, and you are looking at a kid that wants to put distance between him- or herself and the world - someone who feels out-casted, othered. See a guy wearing a priestly garb, you assume he's a priest, he has a certain spirituality; or, if you are so inclined, you might see someone associated with child molestation.

So, what sort of message is Sexy Pikachu sending? A problematic one. Wearing a sexy version of a child's cartoon character is full of issues: sexualizing childhood, sexualizing innocent icons, perhaps sexualizing children.

But Halloween has demanded that of women. Women who don't dress in sexy versions of costumes are seen as prudish, or a femanazi, or some other sort of derogatory term. When really, said woman might not want to flaunt her goods, sending out inappropriate messages. If you want to leave little to the imagination, walking around on a typically cold night in October wearing your underwear as a costume, that's fine. But I don't feel people should have to do that just because the social norm seems to be leaning that way.

Plus, and this is just between you and me, I've had my heart broken on Halloween. In eighth grade, at the H.H. Humphrey school dance, I dressed as the Invisible Man. I thought it was great: classic idea, one of the great movie thrillers, pretty well known, and a complicated, but exciting costume. I bought like three rolls of surgical gauze, a pair of black sunglasses, borrowed my Great Uncle Bob's fedora and trench coat. I wore a suit underneath, like in the movies. I figured I was a shoe in for the contest. I proudly strut my costume in the parade of sorts they had for the judging. There was a set of three kids who dressed as street dancers. Suddenly, the busted out this synchronized dance, which involved some flipping and standing leap frogs. Suffice it to say, I lost. My intricate costume was no match for three kids who could break dance.

I felt this was unfair, as the ability to dance is not an inherent quality of a good costume. But thrilling dance moves garner attention, and this was more a popularity contest than an aesthetic contest. The injustice of it stings me, though, to this day.