Six Costumes You Maybe Should or Shouldn’t Wear

By Cazey Williams Halloween is close enough that we should all be considering what we’re going to don come October 31^st – even if it’s a Dementor cloak to hide our food baby after all that candy corn. So what follows is a history of costumes I’ve memorably fashioned (or envisioned):

Vampire:

This is my signature getup. Stalk Facebook – and even MySpace – and you’ll see I’ve been a vampire since before Edward Cullen was a thing. I also don’t do it like the simpletons aka wear Dollar Tree fangs. No, kids, I use dental adhesive. I also have a cape, gloves, and some Renaissance-esque medallion – we’re talking Anne Rice vampires. On the topic of that dental adhesive, I even made out with someone with those incisors, and they didn’t fall out (!!), though I can’t imagine I tasted very good.

Love’s Prisoner:

This is when things got weird. I was going through a quasi-relationship with a girl who had a boyfriend (not that I endorse that sort of thing, unless you enjoy uncomfortable stories like this one), so why not be metaphorical and angsty? I bought some plastic shackles (the prisoner part), and then I tore up a white t-shirt with a kitchen knife and sprinkled blood on it. Some of that blood ended up on my bathroom carpet, which I still own and step onto after every shower. I focused on exposing my left nipple with said shirt and put a prosthetic wound across my heart. Get it? No? I don’t know…

French painter:

This was by far my favorite costume, but the one that received the most criticism because apparently I dress like a French painter in everyday life. (Is it bad I take that as a compliment?) Admittedly, the only thing I bought for this outfit was a watercolor set. And I stole a cardboard box from a dumpster to make a palette and used some computer paper for my cig. But I never would have paired those yellow pants with that striped shirt any other day. Okay, maybe. It’s hard work being a hipster.

Narcissus:

This one was last year, and I never made it out of the house because #selfdoubts. Basically, I wrapped myself in a toga (read: bed sheet – though it was a green sheet, because that’s different) and a bought a Dollar Tree wreath for my laurel and even some plastic grapes. The final touch was a handheld mirror. And then everyone was like, “It’s Halloween, not a toga party.” And I was like, “Does no one remember reading Edith Hamilton’s Mythology in seventh grade? I’m Narcissus!” I also didn’t know if my pecs were in prime condition for the wintry night, so I changed into zombie attire.

The Vain Man:

I’m trying to bring Narcissus into the modern age. I’m also afraid I’m just too highbrow for people. Or I overthink costumes. Who is the Vain man, you ask? Well, he’s the one who walks like he’s on a yacht. He has a hat dipped strategically below one eye, and he has an apricot scarf! You probably think it’s you, don’t you (don’t you)?  Oh, so you don’t think anyone will get it? “How To Lose a Guy in 10 Days” came out in 2003, though. Okay, I guess I won’t be the Vain Man this year.

Gym bro:

I haven’t pulled off this costume either, but I think it’s brilliant – and if that’s not a red flag, I don’t know what is. The idea is you wear those toe shoes that they’ve proven are worthless , a tank top that has sleeve openings down to your hips, an iPhone strap around your biceps, and you put a bandana around your forehead. You also have to haul around a gallon of water. Bonus points if you refuse  alcohol on Halloween because #gains. I would do this, but I eat bread, so I’m not sure I want to show my abs.

So now I have two weeks to figure out how I’ll stun the masses on All Hallow’s Eve. Any ideas?

From Tom Boy to Tweezers

On the day that I was left alone in office and was tasked with compiling the components of a proposal into a succinct and elegant binder, I quite literally ran to Panera to grab a sandwich for lunch before the big push was going to happen. As I was waiting in line, cursing the skies that I happened to come during the lunch rush, this petite blond girl told me the color of my dress (coral) was very in season (the middle of a Southern Virginia summer), and complimented my skin tone (flushed and sweaty from the jog over to get a sandwich). Then she asked me to enter in for a free makeover, so naturally after the plethora of compliments I had just received, I half-assed an entry and put just my name and number in. A few weeks passed and I got a phone call from the petite blond girl telling me I won. My life at this point was nothing short of a clusterfuck. Most days I couldn't tell you which way way up, so when she asked me to give her a date and time that worked, it was a miracle that I even picked a day of the week that I was free.  So then my friend and I embarked on an adventure that led me to make some very spontaneous decisions.

We rolled up a few minutes late to our free makeover, and were soon welcomed by the petite blond girl, who showered us with compliments, free drinks, and promise of cookies. Then we went into a mecca of makeup, in which she had an entire room full of product and pink, and spent about 2 hours smothering our faces in a myriad of products. By the end of the seminar and $100 later, I had somehow decided that selling makeup was going to be my new part-time job.

When I called my mother to tell her about it, she laughed.

When I called my sister to tell her about it, she laughed.

When I told a few of my close friends about it, they laughed.

Why was this new part-time job so funny? Probably because I had grown up playing sports, started wearing makeup my senior year of high school (let me clarify when I say "wearing makeup" I just mean mascara and eyeliner), and was basically a bro. So what I had never applied an entire face of makeup? And who cares that I can't put eyeshadow on myself without looking like a drag queen.

It was this reason exactly that I wanted to sell makeup (other than needing a bigger budget to maintain a somewhat reasonable lifestyle as a twenty-something respectable, yet fun, young professional). I thought that this opportunity presented itself so that I could learn how to be a lady.  In order to sell makeup, I'll need to learn how to to apply makeup, as well as consult people about what to get for themselves. Surely all this pretty girl stuff will rub off on me.

Even if this is the best it's going to get, at least now I know what the difference between foundation and bronzer is.