{"id":3390,"date":"2013-10-31T16:01:12","date_gmt":"2013-10-31T16:01:12","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/bottomless.flywheelsites.com\/?p=3390"},"modified":"2014-10-31T02:26:45","modified_gmt":"2014-10-31T02:26:45","slug":"me-myself-and-my-halloween-costume","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/bottomlessmimosa.com\/?p=3390","title":{"rendered":"ME, MYSELF, &#038; MY HALLOWEEN COSTUME"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>Every year I act like I don&#8217;t care about dressing up, while painstakingly racking my brain to come up with a costume and then I&#8217;ll never admit how much time I spend shopping, gluing my fingers together, and spilling paint on the carpet to create my perfect Halloween persona. But what&#8217;s really behind the costume? I think my costumes may represent the state of my psyche simmering beneath the surface of the fake hair and glitter. This Halloween I want to try to psychoanalyze\u00a0some of my costumes throughout the years.<\/p>\n<p><strong><em>The Early Years<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n<ul>\n<li><strong>&#8220;Schnukie the Cat&#8221;<\/strong> &#8211; This was an adorable cat costume that didn&#8217;t come off for over a year. That&#8217;s how the cat got its own name. My mom recently let me know that &#8220;Schnuckie&#8221; is a German term of endearment that means cutie. And I was pretty cute drinking out of my water bowl after a long day at kindergarten. Maybe I was imaginative, maybe I found a way to avoid real human interaction, but now I hate cats and am not nearly as cute when I drink.<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<p><em><strong>Ugh, Middle school<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n<ul>\n<li><strong>The Clown<\/strong> &#8211; At an undetermined age, and possibly an undetermined gender, I dressed as a big, scary male clown. The over-sized garment was made of a similar material as the Umbro shorts I wore everyday religiously. I couldn&#8217;t sit down, I could barely walk, and I went trick-or-treating with my only friend (other than the giant rock named &#8220;Alfie&#8221; that we would go feed). It was weird, so was I, and there&#8217;s nothing else to talk about.<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<ul>\n<li><strong>The Big Baby<\/strong> &#8211; The year I decided to be a giant baby, I had also started embracing that I was a girl with a pink bib and bow, but I think I was still resisting growing up. I was struggling with secretly dry shaving my legs, avoiding talking to boys, and changing in the locker room because I hadn&#8217;t replaced a tank top tucked in tightly for a bra. While other girls were mermaids and cheerleaders, I wore a giant diaper.<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<p><em><strong>High School<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n<ul>\n<li><strong>The Angel<\/strong> &#8211; My BFF and I were angels and this costume was mainly a way to combine our two favorite things: \u00a0glittered wings and the awesome fake pony tails we bought at a mall kiosk. While not close to a Victoria&#8217;s Secret Angel, my secret was white sweats and orange juice and vodka to feel more comfortable. I was insecure, couldn&#8217;t do anything without my best friend, and that was the last time I wore head-to-toe white.<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<p><strong><em>College<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n<ul>\n<li><strong>The Cop<\/strong> &#8211; My cop costume was somewhat tasteful because it served a bigger purpose: The Village People. This still showed my insecurity because I wasn\u2019t brave enough to be something on my own and was very friend-dependent.\u00a0Except I lost my people and found myself sitting as a lone cop sitting in a cop car. Which I thought was funny, but you know who didn&#8217;t think it was funny? The cop.<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<ul>\n<li><strong>The Bee<\/strong> &#8211; This year I thought I was just BEE-ing myself, although I was not being myself because I had black hair, was using a fake ID of a girl named Heather Cheetah, and I was wearing Crocs. This was also after I had changed my major twice, was taking a 7 credit semester, and would habitually lock myself in my room to listen to &#8220;You Are BEE-utiful&#8221; by Christina Aguilar. Coincidence?<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<ul>\n<li><strong>The Hollaback Girl<\/strong> &#8211; I dressed as a <a href=\"https:\/\/bottomlessmimosa.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/hollab.png\">marching band leader from a music video from a song that wasn&#8217;t very good.<\/a> Maybe I was trying to stand out? Or maybe I trying to be a leader in my own life? Or maybe I just wanted to wear gold hot pants. Either way, I&#8217;m pretty sure my subconscious will always want to have blonder hair, to wear red lipstick, and to just be Gwen Stefani.<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<ul>\n<li><strong>Slash<\/strong> &#8211; This was a far cry from the the year before and was probably my most rebellious costume. It spoke of my desire to get too many tattoos and piercings, wear leather pants, and revert back to pretending I was a guy again. I was told I looked <a title=\"disgusting SLASH scary\" href=\"https:\/\/bottomlessmimosa.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/Slash.jpg\">disgusting slash scary<\/a> by several guys but it was OK &#8211; it was about something bigger than getting hit on at the bar &#8211; it was about screaming in the streets, drinking Jack Daniels, and passing out on the couch with my BF Axl and a pizza the size of our male alter egos.<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<p><em><strong>Post College<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n<ul>\n<li><strong>The Mechanic<\/strong> &#8211; This was an attempt to not look like I tried too hard, but my Dickies coveralls didn&#8217;t cover my strategically placed oil marks, fake eyelashes, and my beloved high school clip on pony tail. I think I was really trying to repair my life in my post-college depression.<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<ul>\n<li><strong>Garth<\/strong> &#8211; This was a sister bonding costume and we just wanted to have party time and be excellent together. I feel like we were meant to me Wayne and Garth, mostly because <a href=\"https:\/\/bottomlessmimosa.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/Garth.png\">I look like Garth naturally when I wake up every morning<\/a>. I did manage to lose Wayne this night and this costume proved that I am a much better Garth with my Wayne.<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<ul>\n<li><strong>The Party Animal<\/strong> &#8211; This was a last minute and minimal effort costume. I wanted to be clever, cute, and above all else, comfortable. But when people asked if I was a birthday cat, my claws came out. This costume represented my lethargy about living in NYC and the animal I was becoming.<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<p><em><strong>Last Year<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n<ul>\n<li><strong>Sock Monkey<\/strong> &#8211; This was pajamas disguised as a Halloween costume. What did this say about me? \u00a0I was lazy, had eaten too much pizza the last year to<em> not<\/em> wear a onesie, and the only place I really wanted to go that night was to bed.<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<p>IF I decide to dress up this year, \u00a0my college partner-in-crime and I are going to be Thelma and Louise. And I say &#8220;if&#8221; like I haven&#8217;t spent hours ordering scarves, wigs, glasses, and a Polaroid camera that smells like cigarettes and cat urine from Amazon. This choice of costume is an attack on the conventional patterns of chauvinist male behavior toward women and my love for road trips &#8211; or it&#8217;s because I can wear jeans and my denim vest that I get made fun of for wearing any other night&#8230;oh, and red lipstick.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>What my halloween costumes say about me and my mental state.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":5355,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[13,174,33],"tags":[303,304,302,306,307,308,305,309],"class_list":["post-3390","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-friends","category-just-saying","category-play","tag-costume","tag-disguise","tag-halloween","tag-mental","tag-personality","tag-pschology","tag-psyche","tag-scary"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/bottomlessmimosa.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3390","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/bottomlessmimosa.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/bottomlessmimosa.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bottomlessmimosa.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bottomlessmimosa.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=3390"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/bottomlessmimosa.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3390\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bottomlessmimosa.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/5355"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/bottomlessmimosa.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=3390"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bottomlessmimosa.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=3390"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bottomlessmimosa.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=3390"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}