A new type of scary: The evolution of Halloween

Remember that scene in “Mean Girls” when Gretchen snidely comments on Cady’s zombie ex-wife costume at their high school Halloween party?

“If you don’t dress slutty, that’s ‘slut shaming’ us,” Gretchen said in the newest film. Meanwhile, Karen in the 2004 version of the movie asked, “Why are you dressed so scary?”

When I was in fourth grade, I dressed up as Evie from “Descendants” (2015). I bought the electric blue hair extensions, the grunge dark jacket, the matching set of leggings and a pair of black wedges to top it off. Sauntering down the block with my plastic jack-o’-lantern at the raging hour of 7 p.m., I bravely approached each door and screeched that renowned phrase. It was the very definition of Halloween: a night spent asking for candy. And yet, it was so much more: a picturesque snapshot of my childhood.

As a kid, the week preceding Halloween was filled with decorative class parties and nostalgic movies like the “Halloweentown” series. Unabashed candy wrappers lined couch cushions and backpack pockets, while the scent of cinnamon and apple pie wafted from the kitchen. Then came the Big Day: a night of hand-holding, cheesy decorations, giddy candy trading and eager exclamations of “Trick-or-treat!” By 10 p.m., I would look into my bag of treasures, arm straining from holding the weight of candy I would soon wolf down, and sigh, a fever-like enthusiasm buzzing over my mom’s chastising voice, yelling to save some sweets for later.

Soon entering the picture was the in-between: the period between the ages of 12 and 15 when it was unclear to me what was a socially acceptable activity for me to do on Halloween. With my height — a whopping five feet tall — I could pass as a 10 year old, and I could repeatedly go trick-or-treating, in spite of my age during that period. But would I be the tallest in the neighborhood, and would my voice be too low? Of course, there was always the option of watching Netflix and baking — Pillsbury Doughboy Halloween sugar cookies never do get old. But staying home was lame, wasn’t it?

As that period passed, Halloween soon became synonymous with partying. Long mesh tulle skirts and dollar store under-eye makeup morphed into mini skirts and revealing tops. TikTok series of Halloween costume ideas were most telling as childhood costume staples such as Buzz Lightyear — the unwieldy props and foam-enhanced arms — were swiftly replaced by items like sequin booty shorts and bright green tube tops.

To be clear, there is nothing wrong with dressing up in those kinds of costumes. In fact, as the fall season creeps in with colder (80-degree) weather, I look forward to partaking in this newer tradition: dressing up for the sheer fun of feeling confident and eagerly assessing what creative concoctions others have come up with on the big day. (Last year, I remember observing a friend group dressed as different soda brands — Diet Coke, Sprite, Fanta and more, all of which I found innovative.)

Even so, the intention behind Halloween has changed with age, and I often feel ostracized for missing the cuddly, warm night of chomping on Kit Kats and waking up with sugar-induced stomach aches.

Samhainophobia, or the fear of Halloween, often arises out of some past traumatic event relating to the holiday. Haunted houses, horror movies, supernatural stories or all of the above. Zombies and vampires and ghosts, oh my! Alas, my emerging anxiety refuses to be boxed into any of these categories, instead stemming from a deeper tension between social anxiety about drinking culture and a raging fear of missing out.

A 2023 survey conducted by the American Psychological Association found that of 2,061 adults, nearly 2 in 5 claimed to observe an increase in stress during the holiday season; thirty-six percent of those surveyed claimed that the holidays feel like a competition. After falling through rabbit holes of blog posts and Reddit chains, therapists and the broader online community seem to agree on one thing: with its complicated social dynamics and interactions with strangers, Halloween can digress into a unique source of stress for adolescents and teens.

As I sifted through this information, a feeling of familiarity swept through my body. Compounded with my introverted personality, questions of whether or not I should be drinking enabled a hamster wheel of anxious thoughts. How did “being festive” become equated with “going to a party?”

And another dilemma, arguably the biggest of them all: what do I wear? What clothing will I feel secure in? And why was “finding a costume” now interchangeable with “trying to look as sexy as possible?” As one teenager from a Psychology Today article on Halloween anxiety remarked, “It’s usually about, the sexier the costume the better. Not everyone can get away with wearing these [costumes].” Was that now the point?

This consortium of “what-ifs” penetrated my mind from the beginning of September until that dreaded day. It was a constant battle of choosing between my inner child and the conforming young adult who doesn’t want to be left out.

But has the essence of Halloween actually evolved? Or is it just my perception? After all, as I compared the two extremes of Halloween preparation, the boiled-down versions maintained their integrity. The goal of Halloween was, and still is, to dress up and have fun. Regardless of the parameters, “fun” is fun, however that may look to given individuals. And while it might not be the goofy, soft-edged holiday it used to be, no one is claiming you can’t bake Pillsbury Doughboy sugar cookies and go out on Halloween.

So, while I don’t have a clear-cut answer to this personal dilemma, I am sure to rely on one consolation: the fact that Halloween is still, at its core, a holiday of disguise, a time of costumes and tricks. Whether or not I lean into the spirit of Stars Hollow from “Gilmore Girls” and the silly Target knick knacks that scream comfort, I know I can still be the zombie ex-wife or “Descendants” character. Just as Karen sang in “Mean Girls,” “Don’t like who you are? / Then hit that costume shop.”