There’s a memorable line from the movie Mean Girls: “Halloween is the one day a year when a girl can dress up like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it.”
Oh, but we still do, Cady Heron. We shouldn’t, but we do.
Every year, women everywhere choose to go as sexy for Halloween. A sexy school girl, a sexy cat. A sexy Disney princess, a sexy piece of pizza. Whatever the theme, women run with it until it’s both outrageously suggestive and often times covered in glitter.
Even if begrudgingly, collectively, we say it’s OK.
Do you.
Wear what you want.
Be the sexiest piece of pepperoni you can be.
But also, together, we think, even if a woman technically can dress as provocatively as she chooses, she still probably shouldn’t. And if she does, she should be prepared for the inevitable shaming that goes along with it.
I think a lot of women use Halloween as an opportunity – not as an excuse – to flaunt their bodies, to revel in their bodies, and to enjoy themselves, even if for one night, portraying a seductive character they would never dare depict in real life. They are not sluts. They are not out to get your man. No, what they are is basking in a fanciful world of few garments, celebrating the skin they’re in. And who the hell are we to tell them no?
It’s liberating, feeling sexy about yourself. Thinking back, one of the few times I’ve felt most confident about myself, about my body, was the time I wore a French maid costume on Halloween. I not only looked great, I felt great too. I enjoyed every ounce of my being that night, and I relished every second I spent looking like a naughty member of the waitstaff.
I remember spending a lot of time (and money) finding the right costume and accessories that year and allocating just as much time to perfecting every last detail the night of, too. I pulled on fishnet stockings and a ruffled pair of panties; I applied liquid eyeliner and didn’t miss a strand while curling my hair. Even as I think about it now (and unflinchingly use the word panties in a sentence) I can recall how good I felt, how sexy I felt, that night.
And here’s the thing, after putting in all that effort and all that hairspray, I can say with near certainty I did it all for me… Ok so maybe 5 percent of me dressed up for Rod and another 15 percent so my fellow women would ogle me with jealousy, but the remaining 80 percent, that was definitely all for me.
My hunch is that most women don’t get the luxury of regularly indulging in the skin or the wardrobe they’re in. In fact, the average woman’s clothing can easily be divided into one of two categories: professional or homeless. Either we’re wearing Spanx and a pencil skirt or yoga pants and a hoodie. There is no in between and you will never feel 100 percent confident or comfortable with either selection. And as for sexy? You can forget about that entirely.
Although it’s been awhile since I’ve dressed up for Halloween (which has more to with me falling deeper in love with my couch in my late 30s than it does with the actual holiday and my willingness to dress up), I still enjoy the somewhat limited opportunities to plan for, make time for, and entertain the process of making myself look and feel like a goddamn goddess. I imagine a lot of women feel the same way too, which is why, if you’re not too busy being consumed by your couch come the end of October, Halloween seems like a decent time to give it a go.
I wish I could say I’ve never passively aggressively chastised a woman for her choice in costume. I certainly have. But the older I get, the more I think it’s time we stop and actually question why it is we’re so upset in the first place. Is it a woman’s body that’s threatening? Or are we jealous? Do we worry for her safety in light of her exposed legs and midriff? Or are we offended?
Because when it comes to the latter, for me, a scantily clad woman is no more offensive than say my monthly student loan statement or a male politician arguing my reproductive rights or fans of the Saint Louis Cardinals; and I see these atrocities all the time. I would argue, in fact, that I am even more offended when I see a woman still wearing her Looney Tunes pajama bottoms when picking up her children from school at 3 p.m. And do you think it’s OK for me to judge her? Absolutely not.
For all I know, the woman I’m presuming to be lazy with nothing better to do on a weekday holds a second or third shift job and her precious few hours between working and sleeping are spent picking her kids up from school and enjoying their company before heading back to work. See how that works?
It’s this same rationale I think we need to begin using when we question a woman’s attire on Halloween – or any other occasion for that matter. We don’t know her story. We don’t know how long she’s planned on going as a slice of Hawaiian pizza or how excited she is to pose as a sexy rabbit while the kids are at the sitter’s. We. Just. Don’t. Know.
So, with everything else a woman does, let’s collectively stop shaming her and instead begin to let her make her own choices on Halloween (and every other day, too). She deserves a break. We all do.
Title Track: “Black Magic Woman,” Santana. Listen here.
