The Absolute Panic of the Last-Minute Halloween Costume by Nandita Kamalakannan
Every September, the exact same delusion takes over. You see the Halloween decorations hit the
store shelves, and you immediately convince yourself that this is the year you are going to go all
out. You and your friends start a dedicated group chat. You make a highly ambitious Pinterest
board for a cinematic, perfectly coordinated group costume. You have a vision, and you have
exactly two months to execute it.
Fast forward to the night of October 30th. You have twelve dollars, a half-empty stick of hot
glue, and absolutely zero artistic ability. The group chat is in complete shambles because three
people backed out, and now your elaborate six-person Avengers concept has been reduced to just
you and one other friend trying to figure out how to make cardboard look like armor.
This is the official start of the Last-Minute Costume Scramble, a tradition honored by high
schoolers everywhere.
When you reach this level of desperation, your standards completely evaporate. You end up
standing in front of your open closet for an hour, aggressively trying to justify normal, everyday
clothing as a valid costume. You hold up a red flannel shirt and think, "If I carry around a
cardboard tube, I’m a lumberjack." You put on a pair of sunglasses and a black hoodie and
declare yourself a secret agent. Or, if you hit rock bottom, you just wear your regular clothes,
carry a coffee cup, and tell everyone your costume is "an exhausted student running on three
hours of sleep." (It’s not creative, but it is deeply historically accurate).
Part of the problem is that we are in the awkward purgatory of Halloween ages. We are
technically too old to unironically knock on a neighbor’s door and demand a fun-size Snickers
without getting a judgmental stare, but we still desperately want an excuse to dress up, hang out,
and eat an unhealthy amount of sugar for one night.
So, as we head into the final countdown before Halloween, I wish you all the best of luck. May
your hot glue dry quickly, may your cardboard props hold together for at least two hours, and if
all else fails, just throw a white bedsheet over your head with two eye-holes cut out. It’s a classic
for a reason.