Halloween: The Miley Cyrus of Holidays

I love holidays. I adore them. I’m totally pro-holiday.

But if there’s one holiday that makes me a tad bit uncomfortable, it’s Halloween.final

Let me explain. Christmas as a child is magical. Christmas as an adult fills you with the nostalgia of childhood and the warmth of tradition. Christmas is an all ages event. Maybe when you’re 85 you can make it about spiking the eggnog and passing out to avoid listening to your grandchildren’s squeals, but for the most part, Christmas is for families, for friends; for everyone from all walks of life.

But I will never forget my grade 12 school (but not school-sanctioned) Halloween party. Though I love ’em to death, most of my friends went as “that kind” of sailor, or superhero, or cartoon character. What did I go as? Audrey Hepburn. Audrey Hepburn, who would be rolling in her grave had she in fact found herself in that same club full of drunken teenage slutty ninja turtles.

Because, as I learned, Halloween is the Miley Cyrus of holidays. It so drastically morphs from a holiday of trick-or-treating into a drunken party for half-naked adults. And, I mean, you don’t HAVE to go get your drink on at the club with the frighteningly spandex clad version of the cast of Spongebob Squarepants, but you certainly AREN’T going to get away with trick-or-treating past the age of 19.

No, no, I’m not saying that one year you just get kicked from getting candy at the door of your neighbour’s house to getting frisked at the door to a club.  But there’s a definite pressure about the holiday to do so. You either celebrate “grown-up” Halloween, or “kid” Halloween, and when you identify as neither child or adult, it’s kind of an awkward holiday. At 15 or 16 you’re shamed if you try to celebrate either version.

That being said, I love Halloween. Or at least, the homemade balance of Halloween that works for me. I’m all about cheesy movies and candy corn. I’m all for pumpkin carving and T.V. specials, and I’ll admit to appreciating a sloppy celebration here or there. I promise you I won’t try and go begging for candy, but I’d also like to highlight the dressing-up, instead of the stripping-down. And hey, according to crazy ladies preaching the dangers of such a “satanic” celebration, we’re all going to Hell no matter how we celebrate the damn thing.

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