She said: Keep it casual, recognizable
As an English major, ex-sorority girl, media junkie and amateur Martha Stewart, there are very few things I love more than donning a costume and pretending to be someone I'm not.
Halloween is my magical ball — between a decisive lack of shame and tendency toward over-planning, my October escapades are, to say the least, eccentric and over the top.
As much as I love Halloween however, I'm grateful this one will be my last as an undergraduate. For a supposedly college-educated bunch, Virginia Tech, you happen to turn into absolute buffoons once you're three sheets to the wind — a trait I'm definitely not fond of when I've spent months hot-gluing and hand-stitching my wittiest outfit.
I'll never recover from the episode freshman year when I handmade an “Easy A” costume from items I had found at Goodwill, only to spend the entire weekend trying to explain to frat boys dressed as nerds what the movie was about.
I think I should have known better than to expect to have drunken conversations about the societal prevalence of shaming and demoralizing women's sexuality, but hey, I was younger then — more hopeful.
After the first night of blank stares and torturous small talk, I simplified my costume tag line.
"I'm Hester Prynne," I told the “Love Doctor” I was talking to at my next party. "You know, from ‘The Scarlet Letter!’"
I think I actually witnessed his eyes glaze over mid-sentence. He told me he had to get another beer, and it was at that moment that I felt (perhaps more poignantly than ever) that I was a lit major at an engineering school.
The next year, I decided to go with a ringer costume: Hello Kitty. This costume was sweet, recognizable and had relatively little politically charged commentary involved. It seemed perfect. That is, until I spent the weekend fielding misguided compliments about how cute my Minnie Mouse costume was.
This year, I've effectively given up on the idea of picking out a costume that will amuse both my woefully ignorant peers and me. So I'm practicing my nasty, superior snarl and dressing up as the TARDIS to my boyfriend's David Tennant version of “Doctor Who.”
I plan to avoid the big parties, stick with my equally weird partner and bring a fun flask to share with my fellow Whovians who actually recognize who I am. Oh, and talk in a fake British accent all night — haven't told the Doctor that part yet.
Maybe there's hope for this Halloween yet.