🎃👩Sexy "Outfits" vs. Grotesque "Costumes"💀🧟

For years, I dressed as a woman for Halloween. I'd never felt sexier.

Halloween was my favorite holiday for decades. It was the high holy holiday of Radical Self Expression - long before I discovered Burning Man.

I could be vain or be shirtless in public. It was a permission slip.

My most dramatic Halloween experience was the first year that I dressed up as a woman.

I went out to a few Halloween parties, in drag, with my girlfriend at the time. I was terrified when we left the house. But I got more attention from women on that night than I had in my entire life previous. Women were boldly hitting on me.

WTF?

My whole life I had been trained that allowing any femininity to penetrate my macho-ness would be disastrous to my attractiveness and social standing.

But the opposite happened. Maybe it was because my drag choice was seen as a move of confidence. Maybe it was a way that women could dabble in bisexuality without getting their fists wet. All I know is that the results were so dramatic that I dressed up in makeup the next 4 years when it came time for Halloween.

I briefly dabbled in dressing in drag at non-Halloween events, but discovered there was a huge chasm in people’s closed minds between “feminine-embracing Halloween costume” & “sexually deviant cross-dressing.”

When I see people interpret Halloween as, “Let Out Your Inner Slut” Day, I totally get it. It is a such a gift to be able to experiment with identity without social consequences. You get all the flirtatious attention with none of the reputation tarnish.

I’m always fascinated by the choices people make for their costumes. I’m not talking about ideas that are motivated by ease of assembly, current events, or attempts at humor. I’m referring to the fantasy roles that people embrace for that one special night.

We are given permission to color outside the lines of our socialized identity for one night. We can let our freak flag fly – and have the safety net of Halloween.

Who do you *really* want to be?

It’s the one night when cleavage is acceptable from Mrs. Cleaver.

Role play comes out of the closet. Dan Savage called it, “Heterosexual Pride Day.”

While I was experimenting with dressing in drag, I was able to avoid ridicule and physical harm. (There *was* one drunk Navy guy who, after mistaking me for an actual woman, toyed with the idea of pummeling me. He wanted to confirm his non-faggot-ness in front of his friends. Thankfully, he quickly realized that, in the context of a costume party, his error was a non-issue. Again, the Halloween safety net protected us both from judgment.)

With the ability to be whatever you want, I’m always puzzled by the desire to be grotesque.

Being a sexy nurse/maid/cat makes sense. Being a Jedi/fireman/childhood hero makes sense.

But being an eyeball-dripping, flesh-hanging, blood spewing atrocity?

Perhaps it is my vanity speaking, but I can’t imagine EVER wanting people to be disgusted by me when I approach. Especially when I am given a free pass to dress up as anything!

This touches on something much larger.

I’m baffled by the Horror genre, in general. In a world filled with atrocities, my instinct is to go AWAY from horror whenever I am given a choice.

Towards beauty. Towards smiles. Towards Joy.

So If I am choosing between a sexy unicorn costume or a zombie, that’s a no brainer. (Or I should say, “no BRAIIIIIIIIIIINS-er.”)

I suppose I can see how - in a world where we are always pressured into looking good - it is liberating to look disgusting.

I recognize that the original Samhain intention was NOT an excuse to wear French Maid outfits. And for people who embrace the macabre work of warding off evil spirits, I salute your traditionalism. Thanks for all your efforts. (You don’t see much “warding” these days.)

But for me, Halloween was always about letting out hidden parts of myself. And that is why it no longer holds the same importance that it once did. There was a time when excuses to boldly express myself were precious and rare. But I rarely feel inhibited any longer. Burning Man has given me a permission slip that lasts year-round.

There is no longer a pressure cooker of expression building up during the year to explode in the form of a Chippendales costume or shirtless cave man.

When I think about, “whose shoes would I want to walk in for a night?” The answer isn’t a cop, a woman, or even a slutty cat. The answer is, “Mine.”

My daily persona and my fantasy persona have, for the most part, merged.

It’s why I correct people at Burning Man or elsewhere whenever they say to me, “Nice costume!” Even though it may seem like a minor point, I feel the need to correct their word choice.

“Actually, this is an ‘outfit,’ not a ‘costume.’ A costume implies that I am pretending to be someone I am not. But an outfit is simply an expression of who I am.”

And it is from that place that I have rekindled my love of Halloween. It is no longer a needed break from the oppression of the status quo for me.
But it IS…
1) a good excuse for people to role-play in public
2) a safe container for those who are ill-at-ease with raw expression and
3) a time to marvel at the endless ways a non-erotic costume idea can be made sexy.

Now, has anyone seen my fake lashes!?

Happy Halloween
I LOVE YOU,
John Halcyon

p.s. Did you dress up!? Send me a pic!

p.p.s. (This was originally written in 2010. I discussed the possible offensiveness of my choices in this new YouTube video.)