Halloween has always been my favorite holiday. And not because I'm some Tim Burton- obsessed goth who buys ironic belts at Hot Topic. Halloween is the only holiday that remains continually awesome throughout most of your lifetime.
You go from binge-eating M&Ms at the Joliet Country Club to binge drinking at a seedy nightclub. Other holidays either suck when you're a kid or just get progressively less fantastic as you age. For example, Christmas has lost a lot of its sparkle for me. I mostly just eat honey-baked ham in a corner and assemble Kathen's ridiculously complicated, battery-powered Barbie forklift or whatever.
But in all honesty, the main reason I love Halloween is that it lets me embrace my passion for elaborate costuming. For as long as I can remember,
I have put an absurd amount of time and money into my Halloween costume. Since the age of 3, I have been meticulous about sequin details, and I have been known to demand professional quality replicas of outfits I saw in popularized TV/film.
The day you see this girl in a cheap, taffeta dress from The Disney Store is the day you slip it onto to my cold, dead corpse. If I'm dressing as Ariel, I am wearing a life-size replica of that slutty seashell bra. No cap -sleeved, age- appropriate costume nonsense. My costumes were always a hand-sewn result of my mother's blood, sweat and tears. But they would not have been fully possible without a few Oscar- worthy meltdowns on my part (I'm still waiting for the Academy to recognize "Temper Tantrum" as an official category). So here it is, the definitive ranking of my top 5 Halloween Costumes.
5) I Dream of Age- Inappropriate Jeannie
^ Please note the visible butt-length hair extensions on the far right
This Old Hollywood throwback ensemble would have been ranked higher, had it not been for outside influences altering my creative vision. This was a classic case of my mother trying to dim my kindergarten shine. I went through a serious TV Land phase as a child, becoming obsessed with shows like
Bewitched, Adam West's
Batman, and of course
I Dream of Jeannie.
When I told my mother what I wanted to be for Halloween, she thought she was going to get off easy. War-weary from past Halloweens, she longed to simply order some cheap harem pants from a costume magazine like every other parent. However, my six-year-old self knew that I had a reputation to uphold at Joliet's Franciscan Learning Center.
A store-bought costume would mean admitting I was just as basic as the rest of those nose-pickers. I made it clear I was not going as a genie, but a as a perfect recreation of Babara Eden circa 1966.
My mom agreed to sew it and allowed another small piece of her soul to die in the process. She created the pint-size replica and bought hair extensions,
but with one condition- I was not allowed to bare my midriff at my Catholic kindergarten. I threw a Scarlett O'Hara level bitchfit. A one-piece costume?! When did we become Amish?? This was going to completely destroy the costume's historical accuracy, and I truly believed I had the physique to pull off that sultry two-piece. I don't exactly remember what made give in to the godforsaken strip of flesh-colored material (I probably repressed something this traumatic), but I'm guessing it had something to do with my mother withholding pumpkin desserts.
4) Super Siblings
This was another case of forced modesty that caused the entire look to suffer. Always a feminist/ giant loser, when everyone else in junior high was suddenly "too cool" to dress up for Halloween, I was scouring comic books to make sure I had properly replicated the Lasso of Truth. I wanted to represent the warrior princess of the Amazons correctly, and that meant wearing as little clothing as possible.
Although puberty has not yet made me it's prisoner, I still went to a conservative Catholic grade school. My mom immediately shot down the idea of me attending school in a glorified bathing suit. She said I could only be Wonder Woman if I wore long sleeves and tights under the costume.
I cried. I screamed. I prayed to the Justice League for guidance. Did she not understand that I was trying to pay homage to a symbol of sexual equality??? Eventually, I relented. I knew the warrior spirit of Diana would want me to continue on, even if it meant wearing a Lycra turtleneck. And I also knew my mom would disown me if I changed costumes last minute and ruined this years' "super siblings" theme. In the Tyler household, we are raised to respect themes above all else.
3) Legally Loser
I would first like to make it public knowledge that this took place in high school. I wore this to a high school Halloween party, where every other girl was dressed as a cowgirl and was drinking Smirnoff out of a Powerade bottle. I was determined to channel my spirit animal Elle Woods, and I was determined to do it right.
I hopped in my car (BECAUSE I COULD DRIVE AT THIS POINT) and drove to where any respectable young lady would buy her garments- the Joliet Burlington Coat Factory. I pushed past the rows of thugs trying on embellished jeans, and set my sights on this snappy, bubble-gum pink number. Always one to push the envelope, I took it home so my mom could pull out her sewing machine and hike up the skirt's hemline. Next stop was Claire's, an accessory outpost conveniently located inside the Louis Joliet Mall. I purchased a pink fuzzy pen, a pair of fake glasses, and a horrendous Tiffany link necklace knock-off. But a few modifications still needed to be made. The glasses I bought only came in black, so naturally I needed to hand paint them a shade of hot pink. After the addition of some ghetto fabulous arcylic nails and a stuffed Chihuahua, I was ready to take on Professor Callahan.
Oh, and I made my mom buy a handhold engraving pen, so I could literally weld the name "Elle" onto the fake Tiffany necklace. It is still a mystery as to how I was considered cool enough to be invited to this party.
2) Faith, Trust, and More Flesh-Colored Material
^ This was taken during a session with a professional photographer.
Now that I am in college,
I am realizing that not all children were forced to coordinate their Halloween costumes with their opposite sex siblings. In fact, I'm realizing my whole childhood was weird because most people just threw on a pair of goddamn cat ears.
My mother pushed for over-the-top couples' costumes every year (see next list item). And because my creative vision could not be diminished,
Luke was usually stuck being the talking squirrel sidekick to whatever Disney princess I chose. Unfortunately, Luke eventually reached the age where he wanted to constantly be wielding knives or other old-fashioned weaponry. So we had to get creative.
Luke was allowed to go as the title character for once in his life, and I agreed to go as the mute pixie Tinkerbell. I refused every puffy, Disney Store Tinkerbell costume shoved my way. If I was doing this, I was doing this the way Walt Disney intended it- strapless and skin tight.
The sheath was made, and I was again forced into flesh-colored Lycra (due to St. Paul the Apostle's ludicrous dress code). The unholy destruction of true-to-film Halloween costumes is the main reason I question my Catholic faith.
1) Little Bo Peep Has Lost Her Dignity
^Another photo shoot with a professional photographer. At least the image will be high quality when I throw it in my brother's wedding slideshow 13 years from now.
This was another time when I lured my mother into a false sense of security. When I told her I wanted to be Bo Peep, visions of store-bought petticoats danced in her head. When she tentatively presented the catalog options to her terrifying four-year-old, I promptly turned up my tiny nose.
"No Mommy", I said. "I don't want to be just any old Bo Peep, that's boring. I want to be Bo Peep from Toy Story. Woody's girlfriend Bo Peep."
First, it's reassuring that I had such a deep appreciation for Tom Hanks even at this young age. Second, I don't know how my mom was never arrested for child abuse. But she didn't backhand me, she dutifully set off to create a blue polka-dotted masterpiece. After explaining to me that three-headed sheep didn't actually exist, she shoved my brother in his fluffiest and most demeaning costume to date. I demanded a giant cane, and refused anything light and portable. My grandfather literally welded the cane I am holding out of steel pipe, and then my mother wrapped it in lace and ribbons. After carrying it for approximately 6 seconds of trick-or-treating, my arms got tired and I gave it to my dad to hold for the rest of the evening. Besides, I needed both hands to shovel Fun Size Snickers into my mouth.
