Ah…. Halloween. Up there with Thanksgiving and the Fourth of July, in my mind, it vies for the top dog spot as THE quintessential American holiday.
NOBODY does Halloween like America.
I challenge you to provide an example of an equivalent occasion in another country on which you can get oodles of adults together in one place for fancy dress and find essentially ONE HUNDRED PERCENT participation.
France doesn’t “get it”. And it never will. The French seem to believe that le Halloween à la américaine means slapping on some fake blood and devil’s horns and saying, “Ils sont fous, les américains” while sipping pretentiously on some wine.
Oh no. They could never understand the epic scale of our Halloween spirit. Parisians especially, who appear to have been born without the following characteristics that are essential to celebrating le Halloween à la américaine:
- the ability to not take themselves seriously
- the ability to embrace the concept of fancy dress
- the ability to unabashedly slut it up at the slightest provocation, but particularly for special occasions
- the ability to search for excuses to drink heavily and do stupid shit under the influence just for the fun of it
It has been eons since I was last able to participate in Halloween festivities on American soil and, I have been super excited to dress up this Halloween and party like there’s no tomorrow while looking silly and possibly a little slutty.
This year, I dressed as a bumble bee. But not just any bumble bee. I was the QUEEN bee. (I accomplished this by slapping a child’s tiara on my head and attaching my otherwise run-of-the-mill fuzzy antennae onto it.)
As for the rest of the costume, picture this:
- yellow and black striped dress with yellow and black layered tutu
- yellow glitter wings
- black stinger
- black opera gloves
- yellow evil-queen pop-up collar
- and the pièce de résistance… yellow and black striped extra fuzzy leg warmers!
I had an amazing time. A labyrinthine club packed with enthusiastically costumed party-goers? HELL YEAH. Who needs posh masked balls in historic venues when you can get a bunch of people drunk at a nightclub in the Midwest? Not this bumble bee, I tell you.
And the best part? Every time I saw another bumble bee costume, I would demand that they pay homage to me, as their queen.
Nobody seemed to complain under the yoke of my absolute rule.
And if that didn’t work, all I’d need to do in order to get my way is draw attention to the lacy tops of my stockings peeking out from under my tutu.
For the record, wearing a flounced tutu skirt definitely fills one with the urge to wiggle one’s booty at the slightest provocation.
And by “at the slightest provocation”, I actually mean “all the time”.
I love Halloween.