Monday, October 14, 2013



Zoe had no school today and since I worked half of Saturday, we spent the day together. She went into the office with me until about 12:30, when we left to get lunch and start what turned out to be an epic journey to find a Dorothy Gale costume that wasn't insanely expensive, horribly cheap, or trashy. Turns out, that's pretty hard to do.

I wasn't trusting Internet searches, as the costume companies always show something that looks far nicer than what you just shelled forty bucks out for, plus the various costumes weren't getting good consumer reviews.

Two Targets, two Wal-Marts, two Walgreens, the second Spirit store (first was hit Sunday) and finally Johnny Brock's Dungeon down on Jefferson. By the time we got home we were both exhausted. She will be Dorothy for Halloween, and she will be adorable and age-appropriate.

I have to say that overall I'm appalled at the current selection of Halloween costumes for boys and girls, and men and women. There seems to be a general lack of...I don't know...class? Respect? (For either one's self or the opposite sex.) Costumes are designed to depict women as prostitutes, men as perverts, and everyone as assholes. If you're not tarting yourself up you're making fun of others (whether they be old, or fat, or Asian, or anything less than society's current definition of perfect).

And I think that's ultimately what wore me out today. Seeing a whole industry make a shitload of money off of people degrading themselves and others. You can dress up as a slutty ______ (fill in the blank; it's nearly all available), a penis, or even as a butthead. Yes. There are actual butthead costumes.

What happened to creativity?

When I was a kid my neighbors threw an adult Halloween party where guests were required to dress up. I was allowed to make a pass through at the beginning just to see the costumes. One couple impressed the hell out of me. They were dressed in perfect 1920s attire. The hair and makeup on her was flawless. His fedora was tilted at just the right jaunty angle. Then, the best part: they were riddled with bullet holes. Tastefully done, of course. I will never forget seeing Bonnie and Clyde at my neighbor's house. They were outstanding.

But why go through all that trouble - finding vintage clothing and getting your hair done after carefully studying the style of a generation gone - when you can climb into a big penis or hitch up some fishnet stockings under a tiny Alice in Wonderland frock or put on a fat suit?

I'd like to think that I'm not losing my sense of humor. I don't think I am. I'd like to think that maybe my standards are just a bit higher. That I subscribe to the Broken Windows Theory that says if you fix the small stuff, the big stuff will follow. (Look it up. It's a pretty cool study done in a NY ghetto where they fought crime by fixing the broken windows and painting over the graffiti. Sure enough, once they did that, the crime rate dropped. People took pride in where they lived and worked. It's pretty cool.) I guess I think that if we start treating ourselves and one another with respect - even through something as seemingly insignificant as choosing a Halloween costume - that maybe our world will become a better place.

Hey, a girl can dream, right? Maybe I should click my heels together three times and make a wish...


Post a Comment

<< Home