OK, baby boomers, take a little walk down memory lane with me. Remember when we used to make our own Halloween costumes? We’d go through our mothers’ costume jewelry and makeup or our fathers’ shirts, hats, and ties, and come up with clever costumes in which the neighbors wouldn’t recognize us (or at least we thought so).
Remember when Halloween was for children, and even older kids would delight in the costumed characters who came to the door in search of that Holy Grail candy bar (mine was a Snickers)? Pumpkins were lit with real candles, homemade treats and candied apples given by neighbors were safe to eat, and trick-or-treaters traveled in packs without adults. It was a more innocent time, more fun, and less expensive. What the heck happened?
Halloween is now not only more adult, but it has become a monster business (stay with me, the puns will only get worse) for various companies in the business of selling everything from fake blood to fake tombstones to costumes to candy, and scary decor for indoors and out. I love Halloween, but the ghostly night I adore is that of the past. This modern Halloween phenomenon has become a bit scary.
Halloween megastores now dot the landscape, setting up shop in late August only to vanish in the mists of Nov. 1. And even in this economy they are busy! History has shown that in times of economic duress, people turn to fantasy as an escape. This Halloween, people are not merely escaping; from what I’ve observed at local Halloween stores, they are fleeing in droves to be something or someone else, even if just for one night.
Theresa Lockwood is the general manager of Halloween City in San Luis Obispo. This outfit, like its competitors (Halloween Express, Spirit, and others), seeks out empty mercantile locations and rents them out for the season. These stores also provide a haven of employment, even if a brief one, for job seekers. I know: I’m working at Lockwood’s store as one of her assistants. Working in the store (an old Hollywood Video shop on Chorro and Foothill) has given me a new perspective on this Halloween trend. I discovered how much fun it is playing the ultimate dress-up game with others.
“What makes us special,” Lockwood explained, “is that we do not merely sell costumes. We create characters.” And boy, there are some characters in these stores, and that includes the shoppers. I saw college girls trying on sexy costumes ranging from a honeybee to a French maid to Wonder Woman to Mrs. Freddy Kruger. Now there’s a nightmare on Elm Street!
Co-eds seeking cute or sexy costumes shop in packs or with boyfriends, most of whom hit the pirate aisle. Simple, basic, and comfortable—that’s a guy costume. Not so for the ladies; they want a costume that plays up their best assets, and accessories are a must. The sexiest costume I ever had in college was one I made. It was based on an designer halter gown I recreated in orange chiffon and went as the Great Pumpkins!
Of course, there’s a down side to being a scary stylist, and that is the hours on my feet. Oh, dear God, thank you for foot soaks and Sinovium liniment! One of the most important tasks is keeping things in order. People think nothing of picking up an item, carrying it around, then setting it down somewhere else. Don’t turn away! You’ve all done it.
As I walk the store, I spot clown noses hanging on the rack of fishnet hose (someone was going to be a clownfish?) and fangs mixed in with the false eyelashes, but I don’t bat an eye (I warned you the puns get worse)! I gather up mislaid items and restore them to their rightful places. Oh, look, a hand basket is on top of the witches’ cauldrons. Goodie! My ride is here!
The most fun I’ve had selling Halloween, however, has been with little ones. From zombies to princesses, ninjas to super heroes, Halloween is still special for children. One mother commented on my name badge. “Oh, your name is Ariel, just like the Little Mermaid!” she trilled to her daughter. Actually, I get that a lot since that stupid movie came out. My only resemblance to that fishy toon broad is my long hair. The Little Mermaid wears a bra made of seashells. I wear D-shells.
Selling Halloween has proven to be quite an experience on many levels. The extra paychecks have helped catch up some bills, and seeing my British husband’s face each time he stops by the store is a delight in itself. Selling the Brit on Halloween hasn’t been easy. This holiday has only recently taken off in England, due in part to the presence of American servicemen and their families. The Brit just doesn’t get it. “More pumpkins,” he cried yesterday. “Cor blimey, why so many? We don’t even eat the bloody things!” Calmly, I explained that our grandson, Mini-Brit, looks forward to carving a Jack-o’-lantern and we always buy three pumpkins, one for each of us. The Brit is actually a perfect model for this!
One thing has saddened me a bit. Some of the 1960s through 1980s costumes depress me. I realize that you’re getting old when what was once your daily wardrobe is now a Halloween costume! Go-go boots? Yeah, I had them—white ones, and I looked fab in them! Peace symbols and fringe? Yup, I wore them with pride. Punk leggings, fingerless lace gloves, and poofy hair with pink streaks? Guilty as charged. Now all are hanging in neat packages alongside the prerequisite accessories, from beaded necklaces to dangly hot pink earrings. Gawd, I feel old! No wonder baby boomers like me come in asking for adult-sized Snow White or Dorothy costumes. Yes, we have them—and your little dog, Toto, too!
Ariel Waterman will haunt the neighborhood as a jellyfish as she accompanies Spongebob Mini-Brit Squarepants. Send liniment and Snickers bars via her editor, Ryan Miller, at rmiller@santamariasun.com.
This article appears in Oct 21-28, 2010.