It Smells like Halloween
The sizzle of the grill keeps me alert. I watch the bloody meat turn darker, the charcoal on the pan getting thicker. This is the first Korean BBQ restaurant my boyfriend and I have been to, and it may be the last; the beef is not as flavorful as it should be. In between chewing and cooking, we stare out the window at the streets of New York City. It’s cold tonight, and past seven, so the streetlights are spotlights on everyone’s Halloween costumes and their hair blowing through the wind. After all, it’s October 31st.
The spontaneity of the holiday brought us here, where Rick from Rick and Morty is our waiter, and another employee is in a sexy race-car outfit. They’re dressed up, hoping a customer will compliment them and give an extra tip for the effort. Tonight, they’re celebrating Halloween through a costume, but what they care about more is the paycheck.
On the train to Brooklyn, I see two teenage girls in skimpy shorts and tank tops. Their hair is straightened to their hips, and tonight I suspect their bill will be cheap; someone will buy them drinks. They’re immune to the cold because of the drugs and alcohol they took earlier that night; they’re celebrating Halloween for the parties, the natural fun of it. Reason number one is I can’t tell what costume they’re in, and number two, I was them in high school. Back then, Halloween felt like the only night we could be both bold and reckless.
Another group of people celebrating the anticipated intoxication is four young men dressed in maroon long-sleeve collared shirts. At first glance, my boyfriend and I assumed they are restaurant employees leaving work at the same time, but their demeanor proves it’s something different. Their costume is really intended to spark conversation with pretty girls; it’s another insider costume, not meant for strangers.
A four-foot blue fluffy monster walking along the sidewalk catches my eye. He may not be getting much candy trick-or-treating tonight, but it doesn’t seem to matter too much to the kid. He is celebrating Halloween like most, if not all kids do, by wearing his costume with the utmost pride. He’s holding his mom’s hand, who’s wearing a Ghostbusters costume. She may not care much about Halloween anymore, but her kid does, so tonight she’s on mom and ghost patrol.
I’m dressed like Anton Chigurh from No Country for Old Men, and my boyfriend is dressed as Llewelyn Moss, per his idea. My short brown hair is like Anton’s, and that’s the only resemblance I’ll claim, whereas my boyfriend has a cowboy persona in his genes, so tonight, he is Llewelyn, dangerous and brilliant. We are more observers than participants this Halloween. We are guilty of celebrating the irresponsibility this holiday offers, but tonight we are steady consumers. Get full on meat at dinner, get drunk on beer, and play pool against strangers to stimulate our brains. For Halloween, we are celebrating by dressing up as characters we idolize in novels by authors we wish we’d met. We are celebrating because it’s tradition.
Our waitress at the bar is Betty Boop, wearing a short red dress and a smile on her face so big I suspect the employees are also intoxicated. Boop is serving us beer tonight; even cartoon characters must work on holidays to make it in this economy. Her red dress flirts with her cherry lipstick, and a garter on her thigh makes me wonder if Boop is single. She is likely part of the group that celebrates Halloween hoping they may meet a prince charming or a one-night stand. She’s celebrating the ecstasy of this holiday.
And ecstasy, whether swallowed or just in our adrenaline that escalates naturally with this night, floods every block of the city. Down in the subway station, trains shut down because too many drunk people are falling onto the rails. Sidewalks are packed like sardines; streets flooded with college kids doing what we always do on Halloween, let loose. Unlike other holidays when we’re expected to be innocent and grounded, Halloween is a release from the schedule.
At the bar, another employee wears a cardboard sign around her neck that says, in small letters, “psychiatric help $5.00.” The humor of her costume keeps her afloat, maybe even keeps the night from feeling like work. She’s celebrating for the laughs and the cash. She likely spent an hour or two crafting her costume, very different from my boyfriend’s best friend, who showed up to the bar in no costume, but an all-black outfit to blend in with the night. “Why are you not in costume?” I ask him. “It’s just not my thing,” he says.
The table next to us is also uninterested in the holiday. A younger woman and an older man – at least thirty years apart – sip cocktails and munch on an appetizer as they enjoy not being the center of attention. Because no one is the center of attention on Halloween. As much as some people want to be.
Halloween is a remarkably inclusive holiday. There is no promise of romance like Valentine’s Day, or gifts like Christmas, or turkey like on Thanksgiving. For kids, there’s the promise of candy; for adults, we can make the night however we want it to be. There is no pressure to fly home and see relatives, there is no pressure to cook or spend money, just the idiosyncratic decision to participate. There’s no religious figure attached to the day, no fixed meaning, which makes it even more inviting. We celebrate Halloween because it invites us to be irresponsible. But that doesn’t mean adults have hijacked the holiday; kids value it just as much.
Though Halloween did start with adults. Two thousand years ago, it marked the end of summer and the beginning of winter, when people believed the ghosts of the dead returned to earth. They wore costumes made of animal heads and skins, offering sacrifices to the deities. As Christianity spread, the church would only approve a more appropriate event, encouraging community festivities and borrowing European traditions of trick-or-treating. Halloween became marketed to the young, discouraging frightening or grotesque decorations or celebrations. Over time, the holiday has transformed meanings, conforming to the world as people change. The question of why we celebrate Halloween differs by age, class, and circumstance. The holiday is just as unpredictable as humanity.
The West Village in New York City on October 31st was overpopulated with people showing off their costumes, expecting a good time. Two thousand years ago, the holiday was created by adults with ambition and superstition – and today that tradition lives on. We can speculate and theorize about Halloween’s purpose forever and never arrive at one answer. Why we celebrate is as varied as why we choose our costumes.
I chose an Anton Chigurh costume to match my boyfriend’s Llewelyn Moss costume, to be a bad-ass character from a novel. My second costume, a sailor, was for my own enjoyment, to role-play, to embrace the thrill of being someone else I may never get to be. I celebrate Halloween for the freedom to dress up as not myself and thank goodness there’s a holiday where that is encouraged.
Halloween Costumes invite kids to carry the courage of their favorite superheroes, to step into a different persona. It invites adults to embrace a part of themselves that may often get repressed, a desire to be someone new for a night. Tim Burton once said, “Every day is Halloween, isn’t it? For some of us.” Burton is speaking to the imagination that comes naturally with this Holiday. Yes, it’s about intoxication and sexy dresses, scary makeup, and childhood icons we get to inhabit, but it’s also the imagination that comes with it, the creativity.
Halloween was invented by imagination itself. To define its purpose is almost impossible. Some people stay home, eating takeout and watching movies; others crowd the streets, drunk on alcohol and ego. Kids run through neighborhoods screaming at jump scare decorations, clutching pillowcases of candy.
Then the next day, we are stripped of our makeup and imagination, we are full of sweets, and we will wait another year to dress up as someone or something else again. Within hours, participants of Halloween will return to normal, we will clean up the mess of the night before, and we will take off the mask, the costume, of who we were.
For months, my sailor hat will sit in my closet, untouched. Families will tuck away the Halloween storage bin back in the attic, and we will remain only ourselves until the next Halloween. It sounds truly terrifying.
So maybe, we celebrate Halloween because it invites us to be someone else. It sounds so simple. The subway was not crowded with just people on October 31st; it was packed with all sorts of imagination, and that’s something worth celebrating.
November 2025