Something I’ve been thinking about lately, likely as the result of going to an outlet mall a few days ago, is spooky fashion.
Even though I wear Halloween attire all year round nowadays, I didn’t have the guts to dress “goth” in my teen years. As someone who’d been teased and taunted since the first grade, for literally doing nothing as I was bordering on too shy to exist, the idea of doing anything to draw the wrong kind of attention to myself was terrifying.
Not to say I didn’t appreciate the style. The first real “goth” I ever met was a girl named Laura in seventh grade, and I thought she was the coolest person. While other girls in my grade sought the approval of and desperately wanted to be like snobby cheerleader Olivia, or future dance team captain Mia, Laura was the one I idolized. She was much more attainable as a friend, as she accepted all people in a way I’d never seen before from any of my peers. I was always somewhat a part of her circle, though on the outskirts usually, because I found her intimidating in that same way one might if their favorite celebrity were suddenly standing in front of them and eager for conversation. All the time I spent hiding my true self and my true interests, made me feel like somewhat of a fraud around Laura. I envied her and her complete lack of regard for what anyone else thought. She dressed how she wanted, said what she felt, and was the first other person my age to ever tell me her favorite holiday was also Halloween. I remember coming home from particularly stressful school days and asking my mother why I couldn’t just be like Laura, and not care. The more I thought about it, the simpler it sounded. Why did it matter so much what the girl three tables over at lunch thought of my outfit? Why should I care if anyone found out I liked Halloween more than Christmas? I may not have found the guts to stand up for myself in that way until many years later, but Laura was the first person to ever make me question things, and plant the seed in my head that maybe I didn’t have to hide myself forever.
It wasn’t until I was out of high school that I really began experimenting with any sort of “goth” style, but I tried to find ways to incorporate my love for the darker side of life into some of my “normal” outfits. In high school, shirts with cross designs were generally popular, so I tried to find some that gave me a gothic vibe. As I got older, I branched out more toward skulls, and the ever-present selection of Nightmare Before Christmas clothing at Hot Topic. I think one reason I get bored of the latter now is because it was the only way to really express a love of Halloween through fashion when I first started going in that direction. Somehow you could get away with having Jack Skellington on your shirt all year round because he’s technically a Disney character.
But as I’ve gotten older, the lessons I began learning from Laura in seventh grade have finally sunken in. At some point in my twenties, I began to ask myself, when choosing an outfit, “Why not wear this Halloween shirt, or these Halloween leggings, etc., if it makes me happy?” I’ve managed to amass quite a huge collection of Halloween clothes over the years, and rather than desperately scramble for something orange, or something in a skull motif, because it sort of reflects my love for Halloween, why not just actually wear the clothes that make me feel like me?
As I was walking through that outlet mall last Tuesday, I got many compliments on the outfit I was wearing: A candy corn print dress and orange and black striped leggings, plus a hoodie from Creepy Company with a vintage Beistle Halloween design on the back. I tend to get loads of compliments during what the layman deems to be “Spooky Season”, from people who seem to think I’m just going all out for the upcoming holiday. It makes me laugh inside, to think of the contrast of comments I get depending on what the Gregorian calendar says. There’s something to be said about the truthfulness of that meme about suddenly becoming the “spooky friend” in October, rather than “that weird chick who probably has bodies hidden in her basement”. But standing out doesn’t bother me anymore.
It’s a strange, almost foreign thought, to look in the window of a Coach outlet store and remember that owning one of their blah, tan logo bags was once my ultimate dream fashion wise; to look back on my previous self and realize just how much was hidden away and influenced by what my peers and society as a whole told me I should want. And then I catch my reflection in the mirror right next to said formerly coveted bag, and I finally see someone that I recognize. The real me, who’s been dying to get out all this time. That comfort, that true feeling of identity, is worth all the strange stares in the universe. And I think my young teenage self would be happy to see, that instead of glumly carrying around an overpriced handbag, I’m living my best spooky life, as if it’s Halloween every day.
I think that’s all I’ve ever really wanted to do.
Stay spooky, my friends. And don’t ever hesitate to throw on that Halloween outfit, no matter what time of year the calendar claims it is.
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