Halloween is my absolute favorite holiday. I love dressing up. I love theme parties. I love black and orange! Ok, so I don't love black and orange. But I love candy corn and those little sugar pumpkins.
There have definitely been some highs and lows in my 28 years of celebrating Halloween.
Probably the best costume I ever has was an Indian. My mom used her leftover drapery fabric to make me a dress. We fringed and beaded the sleeves and I added leather moccasins, a leather vest (both things I apparently wore on a usual basis, back when I was 7) and my Indian Princesses headband. Add cheesy face paint and viola! Indian. Yes, not so PC, but whatever. I was 7. This was also probably the coldest Halloween ever. We lived in Dayton, Ohio at the time, and it snowed. My Arkansan mother cringed as she bundled up her babies to go trick-or-treating.
Then there are the awkward years. You know, it starts around age 11 or 12. Perhaps too old for family-style trick-or-treating. But definitely too young (in my parents eyes, anyway) for independent gallivanting. I think age 14 was when Mom decided I was capable of taking my 10-year-old brother around for trick-or-treating. In retrospect, I'm sure he was quite able to go on his own with his friends, but, well, mom always erred on the conservative side. It was one of those last minute decisions. "Erin, why don't you take your brother around tonight." I agreed and scrambled to throw together a costume from the contents of my junior high closet. I dressed as Betsy Johnson. Did I own any Besty Johnson at this time in my life? Of course not. I still don't. But I HAD seen her runway shows on E! Fashion File or MTV's house of fashion, and was instantly intrigued but this woman with the yellow pigtails and striped tights that was the same age, if not older, than my mother. The details of the costume elude me. I think I threw on some colored tights, a miniskirt, colorful top and my Converse. Hair in pigtails and lots of bright accessories. Every time I see a Betsy Johnson hot pink leopard bra, or glittery star necklace at Dillard's, I think back to that Halloween 14 years ago.
I think my last real Halloween hurrah while I still lived at home was when I was 16. We had just moved to Hawaii and I barely knew anyone. I had met Rachel that summer, as she too had just moved there. But she, much unlike me, could make friends easier than I could tie my shoes, so I was quite fortunate to tag along with a vagrant assortment of new friends. We dressed up in our blackest goth gear. I remember wearing ripped up tights, black Converse, a black slip and a black t-shirt. I think I had cut up black tights on my arms too. Of course lots of black eyeliner and lipstick. It wasn't a costume that would win any awards for creativity, but I was 16, in a new place, parading along the Waikiki strip with my gaggle of goth friends. We didn't really do anything that exciting. Just walked up and down the strip, as we did most Friday nights. This time, I was in a goth getup instead of my usual uniform of over sized Dickie's, a tank top or band shirt, and, of course, my Converse. At least the Converse were consistent.
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