By Marriya Schwarz
For as long as I can remember, I have had three main goals in life: 1) to have my picture hanging up on the wall of some random family-owned restaurant because I’ve single handedly eaten their 28-inch pizza, a 7-pound burrito, or a burning hot curry, 2) come to a place in my life where I can feel at peace with myself and feel accepted by those around me while working at a career that brings me both wealth and happiness and feel financially stable enough that I’m not worried about the $10 I spent on the magnetic letters I used on the cover of this zine when I could have easily just made it all digitally and maybe it was a stupid freaking purchase and I want a government that actually puts the country first and not some guy who tweets out that everyone should lock up people or liberate states and PEOPLE ACTUALLY LISTEN TO HIM WHEN HE’S JUST SHITPOSTING IN ALL CAPS WHILE ON THE TOILET… and 3) to win a Halloween costume contest.
The first goal comes from TV, the second from the news, and the third from my past. From beginners (a pretentious version of daycare where everyone was 3 and screaming, but they insisted on trying to teach us French and that kiwis are actually good fruits, even though I remember them sucking and I refuse to try them ever again) to fifth grade, I went to a local private school. Like most private schools I’ve seen on TV, this school had a fairly strict dress code. We all had to wear collared shirts and blouses in any solid color, as long as they did not match our bottoms, which were Khakis, corduroy pants, etc. It was a strictly no jeans, no hair dye, no nose piercings kind of place. The few times that we were allowed to break dress code were Denim Days, Field Day, and Halloween. So naturally, Halloween became kind of a huge deal. Everyone would dress up, attend the class party, go on a costume parade around the outside of the school, and listen as they announced who won the costume contest for each grade.
As soon as I was able to dress myself, I started coming up with my own Halloween costumes and used them for both school and trick-or-treating later on. There was no store-bought bullshit. And they were always very strange picks: one year, I went as an Elf on Vacation and wore a bathing suit, a beach towel, and an elf hat. Another year, I went as Flo the Progressive Girl and had multiple concerned neighbors ask if my parents worked at Progressive and if this was all a marketing ploy. Sometimes I was even topical: When the NHL had a lockout, I went as the Ghost of Hockey. And for one of my favorite years, I dressed up in a Christmas sweater and Santa hat and went as “Confused,” greeting confused trick-or-treaters with shouts of “Happy St. Patrick’s Day!” and “Happy Arbor Day!”
But literally none of this mattered because one of my friends, Hannah, had this incredible mom who would help her hand make the most intricate of costumes. Don’t get me wrong: I love my parents, but one time, my sister’s Belle costume got torn and my father stapled it back together. Meanwhile, Hannah would come into school as a full paper mache Humpty Dumpty or a puppet with floating strings. She won the costume contest every single year, and being a little asshole at the time, I was absolutely envious.
Then, in 4th grade, Hannah mentioned to me that she and her mom had run out of time to put together a super cool costume for the Halloween costume parade. I thought that she was just downplaying the situation, and she was going to pull out a wild Cinderella costume replica with glass slippers that she would explain to the judges were made of real glass after she smashed them into the tan pavement. But when I looked across the room at that year’s Halloween party, I noticed it: Hannah was going with store-bought this year, and Reader, this was my year.
It was a perfect coincidence because everyone else had gone store-bought this year with a bunch of superheroes, princesses, and one girl dressed up as a tornado. Plus, I just so happened to be wearing my strongest costume yet. My sister and I had come up with the perfect idea: I wore high heels, jeans, a tank with spaghetti straps, makeup, a colorful wig, and a sign reading “Dress Code Violation.”
It was a hit. All of the judges loved it, including the 8th grade president weirdly patriotically dressed up as Uncle Sam, who called it “genius” and that everyone was talking about it. During the costume parade, I walked with confidence and made sure to prominently show my sign and declare “I’m a dress code violation. Get it?” so many times that I’m sure someone wished their toy machete was real.
Finally, it came time to announce the costume contest winners for each grade. With bated breath, I waited for the fourth grade announcement on the blue floor of our half gymnasium / half performing arts auditorium. And then it happened: Our school principal, who was dressed as some kind of off-brand Cat in the Hat while his poor son was dressed as mini Cat in the Hat, announced the fourth grade winner:
“Anna Polk as a tornado,” he said.
I was shocked.
I hadn’t even thought of Anna as being part of the competition. Anna’s ‘tornado’ costume was just her dressed in black and she waved around a black scarf while spinning. Sure, it took endurance and balance, but I really thought my costume was a high heel shoe-in in this competition. I congratulated Anna, but I was absolutely heartbroken.
It turns out that they thought my costume was ‘inappropriate’ and ‘went against the dress code,’ which WAS THE POINT. This was THE MAN keeping me down - er- Cat in the Hat?
Obviously, there are more important things in life than costume contests and Halloween shenanigans, and I have taken a third and second place win in a college competition, but it just goes to show that you can’t beat the system. I’ve tried, and I was beaten by a tornado. Maybe I was the natural disaster all along. Now excuse me while I try to eat a 12-patty hamburger and beat a world record somewhere where they appreciate me.
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