Halloween US-style? It’s simply horrifying
Kim, whale-tail G-string should be a thong of the past
Put away the big grey belly-warmers, thongs are fashionable again. Personally, I blame Kim Kardashian (for so many things). She’s a mum of four who has just turned 40. She should know better than flossing her biggest asset.
No one wants a return to “whale tail” G-strings peeping out from low-slung jeans. We’ve grown fond of pants that don’t cripple. Cool celebs such as Dua Lipa and Bella Hadid have been showing off teenytiny stringy knicks. Some of us fear looking more like Borat in the poster for his new movie…
Right now, my middle son is attempting to fashion a vomiting pumpkin lantern. It has a gaping mouth which appears to be throwing up mush and seeds. Lovely, eh?
He’s up to his elbows in pulp, which is making the kitchen stink, and is perilously close to severing his index finger.
And if he does, my daughter will gleefully grab the loose digit and stick it in the murky green frosting of her Halloween cupcakes. This from a girl who once had to be carried out of Home Bargains weeping after encountering a two-foot rubber spider with red flashing eyes. She’s since been successfully indoctrinated by Halloween junkies. I’ve literally lost her to the dark side.
It’s Halloween on Saturday which makes me want to scream – and not in a good way.
Every year it gets a little worse. Americanised tosh has ruined what was a perfectly good Celtic pagan festival. Which is ironic, really, since emigrating Scots took the ancient traditions to the States in the first place.
It’s been repackaged in plastic and sent back to us in unrecognisable form. A bit like chlorinated chicken.
Now, neighbours compete with one another over who has the most pretend gravestones in the front garden and little girls dress as blood-splattered zombie cheerleaders like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Social media fills up with pictures of families in pumpkin patches choosing their favourite squash. Who cares? They’re £1.50 in Tesco, you’re not going to eat it anyway and this isn’t Illinois (the Great Pumpkin State).
Celebrities flood Instagram with selfies, invariably choosing a costume that makes them look fabulous, not freaky. Yawn, yawn.
Particularly distasteful are the “sexy” versions of something that should never be sexualised, like a schoolgirl or a nun, Alice from Wonderland or Little Red Riding Hood.
Amazon were forced to remove from sale a latex mask of the coronavirus, complete with menacing eyes and jaggy teeth, because that’s apparently more offensive.
But Covid is scary. It’s bloomin’ terrifying. Grown women dressed as saucy Snow Whites in stockings? Just. Plain. Wrong.
To be clear, I love a costume party, and outfits that are funny or relevant or irreverent. It’s the enthusiastic importing of commercialised nonsense that horrifies me.
As far as I can see, there are now two types of people in this country – those who love American Halloween and those still in possession of their own faculties.
But it’s practically illegal to say this, as a mother of young children. You are expected to spend a fortune decorating the house like a haunted castle, buy a mountain of fiendishly-shaped sweeties and trail around the streets as chaperone for groups of kids while they go Trick or Treating (note: not “guising”).
The virus has, however, put the kibosh on much of the Halloween revelry this year.
The school discos have been cancelled and the entering of other households is off due to Covid restrictions, even if you’ve got a really good party piece (nobody has).
Is it wrong to view this as a small mercy? One – admittedly tiny – positive to come from seeing our socialising wiped out?
As a nation which has spent the best part of eight months covering our faces, we simply do not need another reason to put on a mask.
In any case, Halloween is supposed to ward off malevolent spirits. And the last time I checked, Trump was still president, Bojo’s still prime minister and Nigel Farage is still enjoying gainful employment as a model for Halloween cakes.
Clearly, all the scaring-away efforts of thousands of weans, far too many adults and the sweat-shop producers of fire-hazard costumes isn’t working. What is the point then? Don’t even try. I, for one, will sit it out with impunity. With the lights off. Pretending I’m not in. Stick a candle in that pumpkin and smoke it.