By Aurora Rose de Crosta
As New Yorkers, it takes a lot to shock us.
We are desensitized. We wander the streets in a perpetual state of mildly bemused indifference until someone slips from behind the everyday curtain to reveal a self so uniquely decorated that we stop a moment to take notice, to reflect. To imagine who they may be, and why they have so captured our attention and imaginations.
Often decorated by ingenuity rather than by wealth, these characters add the icing to the deliciously diverse N.Y.C. cake.
And who better fits this description than the Lady in Green, and her ilk. Have you ever had the chance to see her? To sit across from her alien hues on the 6 train, lit up like a lightning bug’s neon green juices splashed across the industrial grey of the subway train seats?
She is not a young lady, though it would be rude of me to say old—and yet she has the folded papery skin of a dollar bill that’s been crumpled in the back pocket of someone’s jeans and then forgotten, only to be put through the wash at least a couple of times before it is re-found, reclaimed. Her hair is dyed an electric neon green, kept up, and maintained with nary a root to be seen.
She wears green skirts of velvet, or green shorts of cotton, with green shirts of all shapes, shades and styles, and of course hot green knee socks with grasshopper-green shoes. She makes my day every time that I see her.
Halloween has come to be the only time of year that the “average” person feels they have the permission to dress up, to stand out in a crowd. To become someone that they are not, but maybe someone they have fantasized becoming. I cannot write an article about Halloween without asking this inevitable question. When did Halloween turn into a sexy-fest?
When did everything from inanimate objects, to animals and insects become sexy? You all know exactly what I am talking about. The sexy ladybugs, and sexy bees, sexy cops and sexy reality show characters from MTV; sexy devils, cartoon characters, and singers at their sexiest/raunchiest (I’ve heard that “Miley Cyrus at the VMA’s” is going to be a top costume for 2013.)
Now I ask you, why is it OK to be “sexy” only on this day of the year? If it were OK to be sexy every other day, would Halloween regress back into its original creepy freak-fest? Or is it just that Halloween is ahead of the times, and eventually it will be ok to be sexy, to express one’s inner urges, and become fantasy characters on any day of the year?
Me? I like it dark; witches, vampires, and zombie brides. But somehow these days, I always end up going with humor. Even as a child I was either the Wicked Witch of the West, or some combination of funny and shocking. For example, there was the time I was a giant blue fish in middle school, handmade out of giant pieces of foam and Ocean blue satin fabric, painted with golden scales. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that this costume of mine was met with some… confusion from my classmates.
Or the time I was a toilet bowl, with fake poop and throw up glued to the seat, the candy bag appropriately placed inside of the bowl. It was seriously amazing, if I do say so myself. However, certain little old ladies I encountered trick or treating that year did not appreciate my humor, and some of them flat out refused to give me my rightfully earned candy!
As I grew older, though I still preferred creepy or funny, I will admit that I began to feel a little bit jealous of all those sexy costumes. I knew I would never be a store-bought sexy Dorothy, or a sexy insect of any kind, but I did want to be just a little bit sexy.
So the Halloween that I was 20 I attempted to be a homemade “sexy Pippi longstocking” with wire braided into my hair and freckles painted on my cheeks. It was a fun night, and a very manageable costume in terms of comfort, but I just felt so god damned average, sexy, but average. It was just too close to the store bought sexy French Maids and sexy Cheerleaders running around. The next year I was sure I had nailed it.
I had come up with a sexy and yet clever and creepy idea. That year I decided to be a sexy witch burning at the stake! It was brilliant in theory, however it wasn’t until I was out at a party that I realized the bundle of sticks I had tied to my back made it impossible to sit down or pee all night! Not my best idea ever…
My best costume to date was the Halloween of 2008. That year I decided to make myself into a giant “sexy ice cream cone.” The flavor was mint chocolate chip. My body was the sexy cone, with a sparkly gold leotard and brown waffle-cone patterned fishnets on my legs. On top of my shoulders sat two giant scoops of mint chocolate chip ice cream, with a cherry on top. My face stuck out of the second scoop, surrounded by the cotton candy-like stuffing found inside of teddy bears.
The only downside of this costume seemed to be the tactile nature of it, which seemed to illicit extreme urges of fellow partiers to touch my ice cream. I was touched and squeezed by Zombies and bees; I was picked up by mummies and spun around the dance floor with glee. I tried to keep reminding everyone that, “Hey, there is a person inside of this thing!” Though it did little good. The ice cream was just so fluffy, so inviting, so minty-green, and so good.
So, as is the case every mid October, the question begins—What shall I be for this Halloween? At first I thought I’d be a Cookie-Witch… I was going to bake a bunch of cookies and then give them out as a slightly sexy Cookie-Witch. Or, I thought, maybe actually make myself into a cookiewich ice cream sandwich with giant chocolate chips. Good, but not quite good enough. Then I thought, maybe I’ll be a giant lobster? But the time it would take to make properly… and the cost of the foam.
Sadly the lobster was vetoed for this year.
It wasn’t until my birthday rolled around, on the 13th of October that it struck me. My parents had given me a gorgeous Canon printer/scanner for my birthday (very exciting for a writer/photographer.) It wasn’t the printer that sparked my imagination, no—It was the giant box that the printer came in.
I’m turning the box into a radio that I will be inside of.
There will be a star on it.
On my head will be a VHS video coming out of my 1940’s style hair, with blood dripping down my red-lipsticked face.
Have I lost you dear readers? Should I tell you what it is? Or wait for you to guess? I’ve never been good at keeping secrets, so I suppose I’ll just have to tell you. I’m going to become “Video Killed The Radio Star” and I can hardly wait.