It’s a truth universally acknowledged that in girl world, “Halloween is the one night a year when a girl can dress like a total slut and no other girl can say anything about it”. Sound familiar? Mean Girls taught us many things, not least how to dress on Halloween. While I like equality as much as the next girl, feminists read no further. You might not agree that this is what Emily Davison threw herself under a horse for but I kind of do. Freedom to wear what you want, when you want – including a cowgirl costume on a night of cobwebs, fake blood and fake eyelashes if you so wish.
Because for 364 days in the year a friend, foe or the guy you fancy calls you a slut and sh*t will hit the fan. Rightly so. It’s not a nice word. And it’s not true, because for 364 days in the year you’re a nice girl, dressing nicely and looking nice. But for one night, the night some go so far as to call a, um, a “holiday”, akin to Christmas or Easter, if that friend or foe or guy you fancy calls you a slut you’re allowed to let a hint of a smile sneak onto your face.
For one night only – ok, two if you (are lucky enough) to go to Exeter and a few weeks after Halloween will attend the SSB – you can lock “nice” in your wardrobe because “slut” is the dresscode. It’s a rare occasion where you can dress as a sailor girl/nurse/maid or some other secondary industry worker before aiming for a slightly more refined career path dictated by your CV and brain instead of your bum.
If you’ve always been the girl half a step behind all the others, reading Teen Vogue for fashion tips when girls in the know had graduated to Cosmo for…other tips, dressing like a slut on Halloween has an extra special resonance. If you were still dressed as a pumpkin hoping your neighbor would have bought Haribo instead of Wine Gums for trick or treaters, you’ll know what I mean. Still hoping Halloween was about collecting candy from strangers who you don’t talk to for the rest of the year, your mates had discovered the magic of a C cup. In the immortal words of Beyoncé, Halloween was more of a beautiful nightmare than a sweet dream.
As someone who has now set aside £60 of October funds for what I’m going to term as an “investment” in Halloween costumes, no girl goes dressed as the only pumpkin at the party and forgets. Fine, I was a witch not a pumpkin but the upshot is it was traumatic.
The mistake half your peers will be making as you slip on some stockings, secure your tail and snap yourself into your Lycra cat woman costume, is in thinking you’re dressing this way for attention. When I say “half your peers” I’m of course referring to your male friends and when I say they’ll think you’re dressing like a slut for attention, I’m referring to their attention which they assume is what you’re trying to grab. And then like a true slut, they assume you’ll be so attracted to them in all their Frankenstein glory that you’ll start reach to grab something else. Obviously.
In reality, few girls in donning their spots and stripes and tails and ears on this historic night of Pagan ritualism are doing so to impress a boy. Most of you are smart enough to know that dressing like a slut isn’t necessarily the best way to get a guy’s attention. What the secret source of slutty dressing on Halloween boils down to is the deep seated fear within every girl of being that round, orange, gnarled pumpkin surrounded by a room of Cinderellas. While it may be slightly warped that the glass slipper of our generation is a pair of bunny ears or set of handcuffs, a lot of the stuff that’s “normal” for our age group is pretty warped. This warp is pretty harmless so just go with it.
Dressing as a fairy or a feline on Halloween at University symbolizes both our movement out of adolescent trick or treating and that we’re keeping up with our peers. View it as the British version of a Debutante Ball – your entrance into society. Did I mention it’s also fun? Note to self, dressing like a slut doesn’t mean you have to behave like one. If you’re enjoying yourself and instead of being the nice girl who dresses well you get to embrace an alter ego called “Snowflake Hunter” (to discover your stripper name combine the name of your first pet with your mother’s maiden name) then who the hell cares if you’re being objectified? I’m sure die hard feminists can find a bone to pick somewhere in my logic but I’m going to go blow £60* on a kitten costume, I’m going to look like a slut, not necessarily be a slut** and I’m going to enjoy it. I’ll be back in the library the next morning.
*(It’s actually proving to be £80)
**(To be decided on the night)