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I’m sorry but what… what are you?”
I’d been furiously trying to figure out what the man across the bar at the Halloween party was dressed as for the past 15 minutes. He stood in a ginger wig in bunches; a purple jumper saying “Rock n Roll Girl”; a cartoon toothy smile with braces drawn on and stuck over his actual mouth.
“Wait – this should help!” He summoned over his friend, dressed in an orange T-shirt and wrapped up in clear plastic. It didn’t help.
“I’m Darla Sherman – you know, the dentist’s niece from Finding Nemo!”
“Ha, duh, of course!” I grinned and nodded and made impressed noises on the outside while, inside, I screamed. When, and more importantly, why, did Halloween costumes get so exhaustingly, unbearably smug and clever?
Time was, a generic spooky trope would have been more than enough to fit the brief: witch, mummy, vampire, Frankenstein’s monster, serial killer from a popular horror movie. It usually involved exactly 30 seconds’ thought and just as little effort – one main prop in the form of fangs, mask or hat, alongside an outfit cobbled together from clothes you already owned.
This was followed by – for women, at least – the “sexy” Halloween era popularised in the Noughties and immortalised by the film Mean Girls: “Halloween is the one night a year when a girl can dress like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it. The hardcore girls just wear lingerie and some form of animal ears.”
But I now look back on even that anti-feminist hellscape with a certain fond indulgence – at least “slutty” took as little time and mental energy as did trad Halloween. Now, the whole thing has turned into a stress-inducing competition to think up the wittiest costume: a slice of popular culture so relevant that no one will remember it in two months’ time; a reference so dazzlingly obscure that it requires a full and detailed explanation, alongside reference pictures, to everyone you meet.
Fail to live up to these lofty expectations by being too obvious or basic, and you can almost feel the disdain exuding from your peers
The same year as Darla the dentist’s niece, I also spotted several Louvre jewellery heist thieves, “a guy who brings a guitar to a party when nobody asked him to”, and Prince Andrew, complete with a handwritten Pizza Express menu and roll-on deodorant. This year, a good friend is going as the Grand Burstin Hotel, a Folkestone legend that made national news after a major fire broke out there last month. I simply cannot compete. Nor now do I want to.
Yet if you fail to live up to these lofty expectations by being too obvious or, shudder, basic, you can practically feel the disdain exuding from your peers. Oh, the embarrassment of turning up holding a broomstick and cauldron when you should have spent days fashioning a giant “truth or dare” Jenga piece out of cardboard in reference to a specific scene in cult indie horror flick Obsession!
The niche costume trend isn’t quite new, but it may have been instigated in LGBTQ+ circles before becoming a mandatory mainstream requirement. In 2023, a meme started doing the rounds on social media: “I hate gay Halloween, what do you mean you’re [insert incredibly obscure reference here]?”
This captured the pressure to think up ever-more hyper-specific, painfully original concepts – often deriving from being chronically online – my favourite example being, “I hate gay halloween, what do you mean you’re the carousel horse from the first promotional photo of We Live in Time?”
The only hope I have that we might break the tortuous cycle lies in the next generation. My colleague’s adult son is, she said, going out dressed as a pirate. Not a specific, super-niche pirate from a cult Eighties film that no one’s ever heard of. Just a regular, common-or-garden pirate. His twentysomething mates are all doing similar.
So bring back basic bitch – or should that be basic witch? – Halloween, I say. And let’s make spooky season fun again.
Five Halloween costumes that are simply too niche
The phenomenally popular social deduction game is a great source of Halloween inspo – but please, for the love of all that is holy, simply fling on a green cloak (or, at a push, some tweed and a Claudia Winkleman wig) and be done with it. No clever-ing it up by being the perfume bottle that killed Ross Kemp, or Maya Jama’s infamous big-bird coat.
Super El Nino
Aside from the fact that this scorching weather pattern is no laughing matter when added onto an already rapidly warming climate, the Super El Nino is far too high concept; no one is going to know – or care, for that matter – what you are.
Elizabeth Holmes from You Can See Everything
If you’re going to go as the notorious grifter, dress as Holmes in her Theranos prime: black roll neck, blond hair in a ponytail, massive, glazed-over eyes. Don’t bother shoehorning in references to the upcoming Nathan Fielder documentary for cultural clout. For one, people actually stand a chance of guessing who you are with the former; for another, it requires precisely the right amount of non-effort.
Donald Trump’s short-lived press secretary
Katie Zacharia lasted just five days in her role, making her the shortest-serving White House press secretary in US history (a questionable accolade if ever there was one). Gratifying as it may have been to watch her spectacular fall from grace play out, this is the kind of story that has zero sticking power – in a month’s time, you’ll look back on photos of yourself in a blonde wig, vacant smile and white shirt and wonder who on earth you were supposed to be.
Something from ‘Backrooms’ or ‘Obsession’
These two horror films made waves this year – notable for both their impressive box office takings and their respective YouTubers-turned-young directors at the helm. Regardless, a horror movie-derived costume only works if there is something obvious to dress up as, whether it’s an iconic mask (think Scream or Saw) or a distinctive outfit (Florence Pugh’s flower crown in Midsommar). Neither Backrooms nor Obsession has an aesthetic moment that would instantly stand out and be recognisable (though kudos if you do somehow manage to create a literal “backroom” as a costume).
