The other day, I’m scrolling through BuzzFeed, and suddenly my heart drops. Surprisingly, it is not due to the baby dressed as Wilson from “Cast Away” but rather the realization that Freakfest is one week away, and yet again, I have no costume.
Rewind to last year when my primary goal was to keep up with my freshmen female peers and wear as little as possible despite the 25-degree weather. “What are you gonna be for Halloween?” “A scantily clad Dorothy. How ’bout you?” “I’m gonna be a busty ‘Despicable Me’ minion!” And so it goes.
On Freakfest last year, my friend and I decided the best way to break the Richter scale of revealing costumes was to be flashers, so we roamed State Street in trench coats and nude leotards, opening our coats to every other passerby. Now that I think about it, people were probably more creeped out than turned on, but we did our best. I did seem to get the attention of a guy in a Freddy Krueger mask though, but I’m just gonna go ahead and not feel flattered by that.
After this year’s mini costume “freak out” (pun intended), I confront my roommates about this life-or-death issue. We reach a consensus that, after turning into ice and shattering into a million pieces on Broom Street last year, we are going to stick with a warm and funny theme. One roommate suggests the overdone but easy idea of being a prisoner in an orange jumpsuit, so we saunter off to Ragstock to see what’s up. After looking at the tags, we find every jumpsuit is reserved for André the Giant and his whole extended family. I consider buying one just because I need a new sleeping bag but decide that at the moment there are more important matters to deal with.
Another roommate throws out the possibility of going as Walt and Jesse from “Breaking Bad” in meth-making attire. She suggests we write “chemistry major” on the front to increase the funny factor. Suddenly, this escalates into an argument. First of all, none of us are chemistry majors (thank God), and second of all, this is a stupid idea because they don’t even watch “Breaking Bad.” (Why do I live with them again?) The bickering continues pointlessly over group text as tensions remain high and time runs out.
We are back to square one.
Then, an idea comes to me like a perfect bacon-wrapped gift from the gods: We will be Spring Breakers—you know, that movie where James Franco plays a cornrowed gangster and Vanessa Hudgens and Selena Gomez shake their booties for the camera. My plan: Three of us will wear hot-pink robber masks, a heinous tiger bathing suit from Hot Topic and sweatpants. The fourth gets to be James Franco, or “Alien,” so she’ll cornrow her hair, get some grillz and wear a Hawaiian T-shirt. If you want to know why I didn’t volunteer for that role, just look at a picture from the time I got my hair cornrowed on a family vacation.
Finally, a group costume more original than a Crayola pack or the Spice Girls. We will own State Street and receive drunken nods of appreciation from all who attend the event. Maybe we’ll even get a shout out from Matt & Kim. My mind is racing. Immediately I follow my instincts and dial the number for Hot Topic at West Towne Mall, wasting no time in asking if they still have the tiger monokini bathing suit in stock.
Wait, I just reread that sentence and had to re-evaluate my life.
Anyway, the conversation went a little something like this:
Hot Topic employee: “It’s the middle of October... We stopped selling bathing suits two months ago. Sorry.”
Me: “OK, what am I supposed to do now? Freakfest is next week.”
Hot Topic employee: “I don’t know, be a cat with its midriff showing or something.”
Me: “Alright I’m hanging up.”
Do you know where Daniella can get her hands on a tiger monokini? Let her know at emanuel2@wisc.edu.
