It takes a very skilled hand to slutify a Halloween costume. Choosing what clothes not to put on can be tricky, especially when you’re a fashion-gay like me who would wear a bow tie to a pool party. Sure, your costume can be lingerie and animal ears so you can be like a mouse, duh, but if you’re like me then your costume is planned out two months in advance. To be honest though, costume planning is about the extent of my proactive productivity in college. I tried really hard my first Halloween in college to impress and I looked exactly like that: like I was trying too hard.
I had recently come out of the closet during freshman year before Halloween, which meant it was my first chance at being able to dress up homo-fabulous publicly. I even knew exactly what I wanted to be. Liberace. For those of you not in the know, Liberace is the original flamboyant homosexual celebrity who was known for playing showy piano tunes while looking fresh to death in a sequin suit. After some serious exploring and digging at Goodwill, where all Halloween costumes are born, I found the most perfect black sequin suit. By the shoulder pads I could tell it had previously belonged to a 90-year-old woman who liked to class it up at Bingo. But like, Alzheimer’s isn’t contagious right? When I tried it on it fit way too small, which is gay for perfect, so I had to have it.
I cannot count how many times I had to explain to a random girl in heels, a bra, and bunny ears that I was a historical homosexual pianist known for wearing sequin suits. As the night wore on, my costume evolved into “that really shiny guy” or the “super gay guy”. With slicked up hair, a poor attempt at putting on eyeliner and a deflated black sequin suit that belonged in the casket with its original owner, I was one sad looking boy verging on drag. Not only was I completely ignored by the other gays at the parties I went to, but I was also actually starting to be let into Frat parties out of pity. To make matters worse, my boy-toy of a fling decided to use that night as an excuse to sleep with my best friend as a way of saying we were over. But that’s an issue for Ask Noah. That Friday night of a Halloween was so horrifyingly tragic I just had to make it up for Saturday.
Taking cue from my girlfriends, who had apparently gotten the memo, I sexed it up. Saturday night I was a self-proclaimed “fire-manslut”. I wore skinny jeans, combat boots, a store bought fireman’s cap and just a pair of suspenders. The rest of my body I covered in ash from a cork I burned. Not only was this the cheapest costume I ever slapped together, it was the most successful. At parties no one asked what I was dressed as, they asked me who I was and for my number. I cannot count how many times I heard “Hey, I see you at *insert place I’ve never been before* all the time“. Sure, I was freezing to death wearing nothing on a Boston October night, but I didn’t mind. I always say fashion before function, but foreplay precedes all three.
It’s amazing how a quick idea (like not wearing a shirt) can make one night amazing while a well thought out decision can break one in half. Halloween is about looking good while not looking like you tried too hard. You can trick or treat fraternities by knocking on doors to bag some eye candy, but you’re bound to have a missed connection if you’re still dressing up as a zombie bride or a zombie… anything. Non-sexual costumes can be fun too, but when Halloween is so conveniently placed right before hibernation season it just seems like too perfect of an opportunity to meet someone with whom to shack up. After my firefighter costume I was Zorro (with a very carefully cut Z in my tank) and this year I have no idea what I plan on being. I’m just going to let Halloween edge closer until I make a quick decision the day before.
Halloween is not the night to dress up in a hyper-intellectual and snarky costume. Save that for your Too Soon or your Beer Pong Olympics party. Your friends are going to want to see you in a fun and fresh costume, not an accurate depiction of a historical celebrity who died of AIDS while still in the closet. Speaking of which that sequin suit hasn’t left mine since.
