If you follow me on
Instagram, you may have already seen this picture of the soaring heights of my Halloween costume creativity, paired with some nonsense child that clearly doesn't hold a candle (zing!) to my costuming endeavors. Actual child, please.
As you can see, it's an understatement to say that I MF-ing love Halloween. I've always preferred a costume to boring human attire, so this holiday is right up my alley. It's an alley that leads straight to
Crazy Town, so tread lightly. Don't believe me? Do you know who else loved costumes?
Thank you. Little Edie is my homie 4LYFE, but she crazy. Get on our level.
My favorite Halloween memories are not the ones that include the slutty monkey outfit that consisted of a faux-fur bra/ears/tail that I constructed myself, or even these mermaid stripper boots that took me almost 349852039 years to shoddily hot-glue into life.
They are of my childhood costumes, 99.9% of which were purchased at some shitty pop-up Halloween store adjacent to the mall. During this time, I had a bratty habit of wearing my OG costume for weeks on end before trick-or-treating, and getting completely burned out on that costume. So much so that I would sometimes make my mom buy an entirely different costume. I know, I know. What a dick.
Here's a perfect example: I got a bride costume one year (ick, nast, inappropriate), but don't worry, I only chose it because it had a white, stretchy sateen bodice trimmed with sequined elastic. And a tulle-y, possibly mullet skirt. I'm also remembering white lace fingerless gloves, although my brain might be confusing that detail with
this. Or
this. I have a shitload of fingerless lace gloves in the old memory bank. (I unfortunately can't find a picture of this damn getup, but I do have this picture, which is equally inappropriate for a child.)
I wore that shit over and over, because, doy, it was like a ballgown to my second grade self. I was fancy as eff. And a child bride, but whatever. When Halloween week finally rolled around, I was so over the bride costume. It had become like my favorite acid wash jean skort -- nothing special.
So I did whatever any rude kid would do; I whined until my mom bought me a bumblebee costume that I wanted strictly because it had antennas made from gold glittery balls on springs attached to a headband. The glitter ended up all over my stupid face by the end of Halloween night. But I deserved the risk of a scratched cornea for being such a crap ass.
I also don't have a picture of the bumblebee costume, because I suck, but here I am serving it as a witch in a wig. Don't ask me what homie next to me is supposed to be, but he's really utilizing that tarp/disposable tablecloth well.
Halloween rules, every other holiday drools.
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