As Halloween approaches, I frequently ponder the capacity of the holiday to separate University students into two schools of thought.

Some students prepare for the holiday months in advance, stockpiling a running list of funny, sexy, broadly understood, creative and easily accessible costumes for the host of debauched romp fests awaiting them on the weekend. Others toss together a DIY three-hole-punch or M&M costume in the 30 minutes before leaving for the local watering hole.

When determining who — or what — to impersonate on Oct. 31, people have many considerations.

Some costumes are selected for their ability to maximize sex appeal, while others are intended to elicit laughs. Among women, many yearn for the elusive costume that somehow manages to make peers laugh while showcasing at least one buttcheek or a spot of tasteful cleavage. Among an endless stream of sexy cats and fembots, the notion of a funny costume is one as elusive and misunderstood as the Pizzagate conspiracy theory. 

To be a woman in the modern day sometimes feels as though I’m being pulled back and forth between catering to the male gaze and realizing my own identity. Personally, I have never quite understood what it is that men find attractive in a Halloween costume.

To the male onlooker, is it preferential to come off as a fully formed individual with a distinct sense of humor? Is it hotter to have your posterior in full view? Are you a grade-A chiller if you conceive of a costume that has never before been done? Finally, is a girl clad in a bald cap and Pitbull-reminiscent aviators really a better companion than the one in lingerie and cat ears?

My personal favorite costume of my college years has been promiscuous Huckleberry Finn — a costume that would’ve conceptually put Samuel Clemens into cardiac arrest in his day. The getup was not recognized by any passersby, but the evening was memorable because my clothing made me feel confident and occasionally chuckle(berry Finn) to myself as the night progressed.

In my opinion, originality is a pipe dream. Sometimes we will have a stroke of genius, like Huck Finn, for instance. Other times, we shoot for the stars and end up in a fiery plane crash somewhere near Hoboken, New Jersey. 

What I’ve realized while performing femininity, particularly on Halloween, is that I don’t need to live-action role-play being sexy and funny on the day of some dingy frat party, because I am sexy and funny every day. 

I don’t intend to be cocky here. What I would like to communicate to you, dear reader, is that you are beholden to no identity judgments about your costume. Regardless of how others around you perceive your outfit, whether a romantic prospect or a friend, you are a valued and multidimensional person. 

How you dress on one specific day does not make you any less funny or any less hot than you were the day before. While getting a laugh out of your peers or being complimented at the bar is a bit of an ego boost, the serotonin from those experiences does not make or break your character. 

If you want to be Barbie in the year of our Lord 2023, slap on a pink hat. If you want to be sexy Donald Trump, Guy Fieri or even Saul Goodman from “Breaking Bad,” do it. 

The opinions of other women, men, peers, family, friends and nosy pedestrians on Green Street should not force you to feel any less confident about your Halloween choices. 

Please, know in your heart that I support you, and that you are incredibly hot regardless of your Halloween choices — unless your intention is to look gory and terrifying. In that case, ew! You look horrible.

Thank you for reading — until next time.

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