I wandered through the wig section of the Halloween store realizing, yet again, procrastination had gotten the best of me, and I’d have to sloppily come up with a costume for this year.
I’d toyed with numerous ideas: Lady Gaga (meat dress era specifically), Cher, Dolores Abarnathy from West World, or Daenerys Targaryen from Game of Thrones.
I figured I had some good ideas so I could put a pin in it and could pull it together later. Then a few weeks before Halloween, I realized I had waited way too long and none of my ideas were going to work out.
Meat dresses are nearly impossible to find, much to my shock and dismay.
Cher wears too many outfits that I don’t have the body or confidence to pull off.
I honestly didn’t entirely understand what was going on most of the second season of West World so felt I couldn’t really wear a Dolores costume in good faith.
I was way too worried everyone would go as Daenerys, and the price of those costumes was out of my outfit budget for something I’d wear one night only. And in my personal opinion, nothing is worse than a duplicated character costume.
Who had I become?
It was only a few Halloweens ago I had scoffed at the notion of dressing up now that I’m a grown ass adult and here I was three years later having a panic attack in the wig aisle of a temporary store wondering how I could manage to not have a lame costume.
The problem is my first costume was really my breakout one. I went as Cruella DeVil and really should have retired from Halloween after that because I only feel the pressure to top it every year and then get super disappointed when I can’t do it.
I wished I could just wear these ridiculous wigs in public year round and not be an outcast. Which I probably could in Seattle, but nonetheless, I had to narrow down my wig needs pronto.
I settled on a long wig that was wavy and purple.
Then I grabbed an obnoxiously tall witch hat and called it a day.
I figured I wear all black most days, so my wardrobe already screams “witch,” I just needed the hat and a wig so I felt like it wasn’t just a normal day in my life.
For me, Halloween had really just turned into the perfect excuse to make my obnoxious Technicolor wig wearing dreams come true.
I contemplated grabbing a broom but had found in my past experiences a prop tends to only get in the way.
The night of the Halloween party rolled around shortly after that.
I was fighting off a sinus infection and told myself that I had to pull it together, because if I had an unworn purple wig in my closet now for absolutely no reason, I was going to flip a shit.
I took some meds and got ready to walk out in the pouring rain.
As I left my apartment, donning my gigantic hat and purple wig, I heard a door close behind me.
“Great,” I thought to myself, “I never run into a soul in this apartment, and now I’m going to be the weirdo.”
I didn’t turn around and kept on walking, hoping they wouldn’t look my direction. Not that anyone in Seattle would speak to me about it anyways.
That’s when I heard a guy yell at me.
“Yo, wicked WIIIIIITTTCCCHHHH!”
I whipped around, mildly offended that he automatically assumed I was a wicked witch and not a good one (though probably a correct assumption), only to see a man dressed as a ghost buster in front of me, and I died laughing.
I forget every year how serious Halloween is out here until I’m in it.
I went out into the pouring rain, struggling to hold my umbrella above my hat and trying to shelter myself as much as possible from the downpour.
The party was a success, filled with Royal Tenenbaums, George Michaels, Shania Twains, and yes, even a Dolores Abarnathy (so in a Halloween miracle, I dodged a bullet of having the dreaded duplicate character costume).
I left thinking, while I got lots of wig compliments, I really need to plan next years costume way in advanced so I have it ready and can possibly top my Cruella DeVil.
Until then, the witch (wicked or not) sufficed just fine. It wasn’t that much of a stretch for me after all.