I have a rule in our family that my daughter is not allowed to talk about Halloween costumes until after Labor Day.
Which means, like clockwork, she started texting me photos on Tuesday, the first day it’s allowed.
Last year, she was Constance Hatchaway from Disneyland’s Haunted Mansion.
That was pretty easy to pull together with thrift store purchases and some Rit dye.
The year before that, she was Coraline which was mostly a blue wig from Amazon and a yellow raincoat of mine. The boots were my mom’s. The rest of it was her own clothes.
One year she was Snow White, one year she was Dorothy, one year she was Velma.
This year, she wants to be Spider-Gwen.
Either that, she says, or Deadpool. At this point I usually scream bloody murder. Not because of the gender-bender aspect of dressing up as Deadpool, but because it is totally inappropriate costume for a 16-year-old… boy or girl or mixed or half-and-half or ace.
(Ace=asexual. I’ve got all the lingo ‘cuz I am just that great of a mom.)
For that matter, Harley Quinn is not an appropriate costume for little girls IMHO.
I am worried about the skin-tight nature of the garment in above picture, but I think she would be fine with black leggings (which she has) and turquoise shoes (which are easy to buy online) and then this zip-up hoodie.
\We are still debating over the mask. I think we should find some glasses that are reminiscent of the character. And as for her hair, it is already half shaved and half blonde with pink tips. So no change needed there.
Judge me by my daughter’s hair color? When you are raising a teenager, you need to give as much as you take. Pick your battles, like refusing to let her dress-up as Deadpool.
She asked me if I was going to dress up. I said I would do the usual, which is something like this…
It’s embracing of local Latinx culture, it’s easy to do, and still kind of sexy. Wear that and a tight red scoopneck and no one will care that you aren’t really a skeleton.
I used to do more, before I had a kid to dress up and drive around trick-or-treating. When my first husband and I were living near 4th Avenue in Tucson in the late ’90s, we would dress up religiously. He liked to dress up as Baron Samedi and sometimes I would pull on a red wig and dress up as his spouse Maman Brigitte and we’d go out haunting the Avenue on down to Hotel Congress, which was always a great party.
I didn’t have to buy a red wig, or a blonde one, or a black one. I had an entire closet of wigs and hats and shoes. There is no dainty way to say this… so… my ex-husband was heavily into role playing, slightly into leather and bondage, and liked to be pegged.
Yep, we had a strap on. Kind of like Deadpool and his girlfriend.
I didn’t care. If that’s what he wanted. The problems arose when I didn’t want to reciprocate entirely, or thought we should rein it in and finally settle down and have kids and only do the “wicked” stuff on the weekends when the kids were gone.
His answer was to say he wanted to become a girl and be a girl with me. Just like <poof> change your sexual orientation. I considered it a type of fraud and told him so.
That’s when it went off the rails and I was no longer a willing partner in our marriage.
Buttttttttt… I digress.
Would I try dress-up again? Depends on the partner. If the sex is sizzling before we hit the costume bin, I think it can handle some very vanilla, very hetero cosplay.
Which is what I will leave you with, a collection of characters who I wouldn’t mind fucking, as long I felt safe and was truly in love with the man underneath it all.