Freelancette

I tend to look pretty cheap on Halloween – cheap as in, “I refuse to spend any more money than is absolutely necessary on this costume,” not as in “I refuse to wear any more clothing than is absolutely necessary for this costume.” Unfortunately, I’m poor, and all of the easy costumes and props from my past --cheerleading uniform and pom-poms, old prom dresses, waitress uniform-- were either trashed years ago, or are lost in the bowels of my parents’ house hundreds of miles away. So each year, when October 31 rolls around, I rifle through my closet and see what I have to work with. In 2003, I dressed a Japanese teenager: I layered on as many different brightly-colored clothing items as possible (given the current fashion trends, I was ahead of my time). Before that, I was Mary Katherine Gallagher, Superstar: glasses, pleated skirt, necktie, penny loafers, knee socks (at the party I attended, people kept assuming I was trying to be a geeky Britney Spears). This year, I’m using one of Jane Fonda’s early films as inspiration. Forget Barbarella and Klute; I think Jane Fonda’s Workout is more my style.

Most of my friends share my G-rated Halloween aesthetic. Over the years, they’ve dressed as cats, dogs, bloody ghouls, flappers, grandmothers, Disney dwarves, bag ladies and various kinds of insects. I think the sexiest Halloween costume I’ve seen one of them wear is a "Freudian Slip," but even that was more frock than lingerie.

Of course I’ve heard of those other ladies of the night, the ones who tend to get a lot of attention from men and the press. But I don’t tend to party with them. The type of woman who celebrates Halloween as an excuse to take clothes off rather than put them on is foreign to me. She may be out there, sexing it up, but she doesn’t really sex it up in my world.

Those worlds collided this morning while I was dozing on the subway. A huge group of noisy high-schoolers had boarded on the train at 34th St. Confused and discombobulated by their loud chatter and imposing numbers, I started to panic when I realized I was one of three adults on car –- and that the other two were teachers. I stumbled towards the exit, only to be blocked by a wall of junior varsity soccer players. As the doors slid shut in front of me, I grabbed the nearest pole.

After taking a deep breath and silently chanting “Two more stops,” I looked up to see a pretty young girl with dimples and long, straight, caramel-colored hair standing across from me. She seemed to be describing an outfit to three other girls. “…I think I’m going to wear my beige shirt dress,” I heard her say. “I’ll leave it unbuttoned, and underneath I’ll wear this great black push-up bra.” What?! What's a 16-year-old doing with a black push-up bra? (Showing it off, evidently). “I also have these really cute black underpants, like boy-shorts, you know? So I’ll wear those on the bottom. Just those. And I’ll wear my new black stilettos.” Oh, I get it: this is her Halloween costume! “And then all night, I’m going to flash people my badge, like” –-here she gave her friends a smoldering look and held up an imaginary police badge-- “'Don’t mess with me!’ It’ll be awesome!” The other girls were wide-eyed and silent, presumably envisioning their own awesomely slut-o-riffic Halloween get-ups.

Hearing this fresh-faced Noxema girl talking about fetishizing police officers and prancing around in her skivvies really got my day off to a discouraging start. When I was in high school, I used a trench coat to transform myself into a gangster for Halloween. It never would have occurred to me to pair it with heels and underwear and go as a “flasher/cop.” Clearly, some girls have been taking note of those scantily-clad “other women” on Halloween … and getting some pretty scary ideas from them, as well.