When I was younger, I always wanted to be a witch, vampire or goblin for Halloween, but my father, who is a devout Catholic and believes that Halloween is a devilish celebration, banned me from those costumes, and in turn, I was the Queen of Hearts for three years in a row.
The first year I was the Queen of Hearts, I felt utterly glorious, strutting around with my moth-eaten pillow case, going from door to door proud that I was royalty and not jealous at all of the green witch the pointy hat who passed me on the street.
The third year, however, I was so over it. The Queen of Hearts had her 15 seconds, and I felt ready to wear the fake, pointy fangs and the goopy, green face paint with which my peers were so eager to adorn themselves. But alas, I was to be the Queen of Hearts again. And I was a nasty Queen; bossing everyone around as if they were my royal subjects. I despised the forced three-peat and almost stayed home.
Since then, I have been nearly everything there is to be for Halloween, but for some reason, I still haven’t ventured into the scary and/or evil territory my father so greatly despises. Maybe it’s out of respect for my pops, or perhaps it’s because I’ve had so much fun with my past costumes (a drug-addicted Miss America, a naughty teacher). But then again, those costumes don’t necessarily scream “wholesome,” either.
In the end, it’s safe to say that I adore Halloween, but never take it too seriously. If I can make it out, glorious. If not, there’s always next year.
Here are some shots of scary, ominous photos taken from editorials and portfolios. If I can’t be scary, I’ll let the others overdo it for me.
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