Gather ‘round, fellow revelers, it’s time to guess my Halloween costume.
What costume? Why, it’s these regular items of clothing I’m wearing, of course—attire that wouldn’t cause you to blink twice if you saw me looking like this in a supermarket.
Go ahead, take it all in. I’m confident this ordinary outfit is screaming out which obscure reference I’m masquerading as this evening.
To be clear: No, I don’t have any kind of actual mask for masquerading—the passable street clothes I’m sporting are the whole deal.
Fine, I’ll give you a hint: It’s a fictional human character from film, TV, video games, literature, or social media of the past 100 years. Come on, you know you know it.
That’s your guess? You think I watch network television? You’ll have to do better than that if you want to win the privilege of me clinging to your social circle all evening.
If you’re thinking I threw this plain-clothes kit together slapdash a few minutes before coming over to the party tonight, let me stop you right there. This esoteric ensemble, deceitful in its simplicity, is the result of a weeks-long creative thought process. I meticulously planned every detail, from the thrift store shirt (that isn’t 100% accurate, but was close to enough to sell the look) down to the shoes I already owned.
Hang on a sec. I know why you’re not getting this. I forgot to hold up my prop.
My prop is essential. Though, similar to my costume, it’s an everyday item you might find in an aging hipster’s apartment. It’s also an awkward and annoying object to tote around for hours on end. (I’ve left it in the bathroom twice.) Nevertheless, when I present myself to you in these clothes while holding this prop in my hand, you see it, right?
This thing I'm holding is the thing the person I’m portraying was holding during that one iconic (according to me and my fellow subreddit enthusiasts) moment. It couldn’t be more obvious. Really? Nothing?
I mean, sure, if I wanted to be trite and predictable, I could have worn a striped suit like that Beetlejuice over there casually making a group of strangers laugh. Or been content to look ridiculous like that inflatable Minion tearing it up in the middle of the breakdance circle.
Any lunkhead can purchase some prefab personality from Party City. My costume comes from the Criterion Collection.
But this is more than just a Halloween costume. This is a social litmus test. My festive attempt at proctoring a pop culture literacy exam, sussing out which like-minded individuals I’m going to seek conversational refuge in for the duration of the party. How else do you make acquaintances, if not by demanding they meet your arcane intellectual standards?
To decipher my ingenious (I assure you) idea will require a vast knowledge of cultural deep cuts. Only then can you truly appreciate such a nod-of-recognition-worthy costume with a cool factor that definitely outweighs the fact that I’ll end up re-explaining myself dozens of times throughout the night.
So until my kindred spirit comes forward on this All Hallow’s Eve, I’ll be chilling right here by the bowl of mini pretzels, telegraphing to every one of you overdressed plebes that I’m only interested in entertaining thoughtful answers as to who the hell I’m supposed to be.
I swear, once you hear it you’re going to be like, “Oh, RIGHT. That’s who that is!” And unlike me, the person who thought a few generic pieces of clothing were enough to constitute an identifiable costume, you’re all going to feel so silly.