Sweatshirt: Forever 21
Blouse: Bongo, Sears
Skirt: Bongo, Sears
Bag: Nine West, Marshalls
Shoes: Chinese Laundry, DSW
Dress: Xhilaration, Target
Shoes: Ami Clubwear
Belt: Wet Seal
Sunglasses: J. C. Penney's
Skirt: Mossimo, Target
Shoes: Betseyville, Macy's
Bag: Nine West, Ross
Belt: Apt. 9, Kohl's
Sunglasses: So, Kohl's
Typed. Every. Millennial. Ever. On October 31. Or so this cusp millennial imagines. So, in an effort to represent, here are my talking (typing?) points:
This week's homegrown regalia is all about bats, pumpkins, and black widows. That, and a Forever 21 sweatshirt that proudly shouts, "Boo!" Sure, it's not that kind of "boo." But what better expression for this post than one that's both a hip term of endearment and an onomatopoeia meant to scare the Snickers out of you?
Speaking of treats, here's another (at least in my humble opinion): the husband and I dressed up as Bob Ross and his happy little tree. Naturally, the husband (who's a painter) came up with the idea. He was also the one who so expertly constructed my pine tree costume (and good thing, too; if it'd been up to me, then I'd probably end up looking like a roughed-up avocado). The palette was my contribution. Not that I cut the wood; surely, you've been reading this blog long enough to know that I keep my distance from power tools. No, it's the felt I refer to, which made for perfectly textured and pigmented paint splotches. Is there any feat that that fiber can't conquer?
My very first Halloween costume was similarly (and surprisingly) outdoorsy. It was a leopard, which, come to think of it, was spot on in terms of foreshadowing my future enthusiasm for animal prints. My grandmother, who was an amazing seamstress, made it. Eleven years later she gamely sewed black feathers to one of my black turtlenecks so I could trick-or-treat as a crow. An ill-advised costume if ever there was one, it was born solely of my desire to wear a fancy feathered mask and confused nearly everyone who saw me, despite the supposed tell of my bright yellow sneakers. Oh, the warnings I'd give fifth-grade me.
I should also give present me a few warnings. Like, stop procrastinating already. In my grand tradition of supermarket-themed Andy-Warhol-inspired photography (and by grand tradition I mean that I did this exactly once, last Thanksgiving, when I not-so-surreptitiously photographed a wall of Ocean Spray cranberry sauce in the 10-for-$10 aisle of the Brigantine Acme), I'd planned to photograph a display of Frankenberry. I've never eaten the cereal (which, honestly, sounds pretty disgusting), but its packaging appealed to my appreciation for campiness. Unfortunately, by the time I got around to taking the picture, those go-getters at Acme had taken the whole thing down, no doubt to make room for candy canes and Christmas Crunch.
And now, for the last shot of sugar at the bottom of the Halloween candy bowl, a few words about TBS's new sitcom "People of Earth." Because aliens are scary and Halloween is scary and so is discovering you've run out of chocolate. Created by the people who brought us "The Office" and "Parks and Recreation" and produced by sci-fi geek and quirk master extraordinaire Conan O'Brien, "People of Earth" is about a support group for people who believe that they've been abducted by aliens. Through their accounts, we learn that there are three types of aliens: green reptilians; tall, Nordic blonds; and the classic, almond-eyed variety with deep clefts at the backs of their heads that look just like asses -- making them instant buttheads (my observation, not the show's). They're a weird bunch (the abductees, not the aliens), but I look forward to getting to know them. Especially Ozzie (Wyatt Cenac), the haunted and somewhat-in-denial journalist assigned to report their unlikely story. It's eerie, but it's also lighthearted.
Which is how I like my eerieness.