Every day is like Halloween

JuniperJune asked a great question in a comment on Friday’s post. She wanted to know why — since I appeared to be in favor of fashion in earlier posts — I’m uncomfortable dressing up for Halloween.

The answer’s personal. It’s not a grand statement about the immorality of wearing costumes. I had a lot of fun writing about fashion disasters awhile back, but at the time, they weren’t fun at all. Fashion is something other people do to you: you wear clothes that, for the most part, you can’t see, and they react. It is a performance, and one that I’ve come to experience as a risk, a potential source of embarrassment.

I don’t mind the dressing up as much as I mind the complementary hypothesis of an easy normalcy. The proferred opposition is Halloween costume vs. regular clothing, whereas I am chased by the feeling that I’m constantly in costume.

This is also why I can’t role play. I don’t even know if I own a twenty-sided die anymore.

I’ll end there. Goodnight — you pirates, you burlesque dancers, you abominable snowmen, you royal tanenbaums. You air guitar sales representatives.

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