Camp-O-Ween: I Gave. I Served. I Ate.

I have never been a fan of Halloween, as I find it imposes an unnecessary social pressure on what is meant to be a joyous celebration of Satan’s birthday. You spend all year looking at things and thinking of cute outfits, yet by the time late September rolls around, you’re bored of all the ideas you’ve had on how to sluttify the style of a certain fictional character or famous person (or to make the already slutty even sluttier where necesary). Come late October, you’re in a crisis.

Over the years, I’ve had costumes that were forgettable, embarrassing, and some brilliant, if I do say so myself. But this year really was the year — God opened a portal and spoke to me personally. What did He say, you ask? Ariel, you must serve c*nt. And I listened.

In the past, my most outstanding costume was a lion (2006) — based on the meaning of my name, which means Lion of God. I was seven months old, and my mother ordered it, oddly, from Pottery Barn Kids.

In addition, Baby Shark (2018) — everyone was incredibly annoyed by me and nothing makes me happier — and after a deeply enlightening therapy session on October 31, 2023, about overcoming our fears, I was a straight man — only possible through the last-minute raid of a lesbian’s wardrobe. (That lesbian is my baby sister, and yes, my parents had two gay children. The chances of that are about 1 in 4,000; I will definitely write something on that front soon.)

Last year, I was not creative and did not look forward to the holiday. I was anxious for time to speed up, as I was laughably under the impression that our first female presidency was just five days on the horizon.

Pop culture last year was much richer than I think it was this year, from Saltburn winter to Brat summer, before fascism fall left us all so boring in our existential panic. The best that I could come up with was a siren with my friend, in which I was so unclothed that it would not be appropriate to share a photograph: in fact, when my friend Amelia tried to send a photo of us together, I received a warning on my phone that I may be receiving pornographic material. I was also Anna Delvey, with whom I DM'd on Instagram briefly this summer as I told her that I stood with her in light of the bunny liberation propaganda — but we’re in (one-sided) beef now that she randomly attacks Taylor Swift online, which is by far her worst transgression.

But this year. THIS YEAR! I decided that there was no room for hiccups, mistakes, or misses.

Halloween, after all, is the gay Olympics.

So, this year, I had no room to err. I was going to get gold or go home.

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Let’s start with Sue Sylvester, the tyrannical cheer coach at McKinley High in Glee.

Many people told me that I “won Halloween,” that I was officially and undoubtedly the best dressed of anyone. I responded, “I know, thank you.” If I had a goal this Halloween — other than to get increasingly drunker each night (achieved) — it was to be camp. And I delivered on that. As I (allegedly) gallivanted up and down Frat Row in nothing but a bald cap, completely unaware that my blonde pixie-cut wig had been lost to history and shouted in my megaphone at people, “SUE IS COMING THROUGH, OUT OF THE WAY!”, I think that I honored Principal-Coach-Anchorman-Memoirist-Congresswoman-Superintendent-Vice President of the United States of America Sue Sylvester.

Her fits of rage were often set to O Fortuna, and I, too, often listen to operatic renditions of 13th century hymns when angry/on the treadmill. I highly recommend Dies Irae.

Sue epitomizes what it means to be Prob offensive — from her everyday rhetoric to her “Sue’s Corner” show to her memoir, “I’m A Winner and You’re Fat,” she understands what it means to constantly toe the boundary of cancellation.

And honorable mention to Amelia again — she was Quinn Fabray, captain of the cheer squad which Sue Sylvester coaches. The coincidence was so serendipitous!

Excuse the fact that I look crazed and she looks ethereal, but I suppose that is natural to our characters.

People, I think, are over-obsessed with looking their absolute best on Halloween. And I’m not even referring to the fact that most people show more skin than a dermatologist sees in their wildest dreams, though there’s that. People do hairdos they wouldn’t otherwise, makeup they would deem too out-there any other night, and personas that are not their own, at least not publicly.

(One thing that has always bothered me is colored contact lenses — I understand I am lucky to have piercing, steely, cornflower blue eyes (said with modesty), but I really detest people putting on different colored eye contacts on Halloween. It’s creepy, not in a Halloweeny way, and doesn’t elevate any costume. If God gave you brown eyes, stick with your beautiful brown eyes — you will live. And that’s how Sue sees it.)

But with Sue, I didn’t necessarily want to look my best. The tracksuit gave me a bit of a belly, red brings out the less flattering parts of my rosacea, and the wig didn’t fit my face shape. It’s not about looking good.

It’s about giving what you need to give, serving what you need to serve, and eating what you need to eat. I did give, I did serve, and I did eat.

—

That brings us to costume number two. My mother saw my costume and asked me if I was a drunken sailor. No, mother, simply a Sailor whose hypothetical eventual drunkness is not to be questioned by the readers of this newsletter nor the mother of its author.

The second costume was my personal favorite. The sailor is a perennial costume that seems to return every so often, giving flexibility to combine the vintage, the modern, and the stylish. Aside from my hat (Amazon, $8.99), I wore head-to-toe Jean Paul Gaultier, after finding a blue-and-white striped shirt with an anchor cut out of rips on Vestiaire Collective and plain white trousers. It also has a gay subtext, and I think we all need a little bit of gay on the open seas.

This is a departure from the Sue costume, which is why the sailor preceded Sue by a night, because I wanted to be stylish and simple in a Jane Birkin-goes-to-USC kind of way — a classic with a couture twist. Two of my best friends did sailor the night after me without my knowing it, and a trio costume would’ve been fun, but with all of the sailors I saw this weekend, I can tell you: I wore it best! (Sorry, Cammie and Addie.)

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Last, but not least: the Newsflash.

I wish that I could say otherwise, but this was actually not my idea, but that of my friend Roxie. Roxie envisioned me wrapping myself in newspaper as clothing, but I think that the “flasher” part of Newsflash needed to remain comedic rather than practical. I bought the coat in London, a vintage Burberry coat, and Amazon newspaper print clothing — again, balance is important.

When I told people that I was going to be a Newsflash, they told me: “Oh, I saw that on TikTok!” I really could not have cared less if they saw it on every billboard in Los Angeles; part of what attracted me to the outfit is the way that I could make it camp.

In case you haven’t heard: this is Camp-O-Ween.

I did some serious soul-searching while planning the Burberry x Bezos outfit, and realized that there would be no better way to campify other than through the sacred and archaic artform of an Instagram Boomerang. With a hashtag. In an ugly font. Like the ancestors. And I don’t even need to tell you that the rainbow lollipop with the Powerpuff Girls phone case multiplied it fourscore.

Beforehand, I intended to do this Boomerang alone, but then I saw my friend Caroline from New York, visiting her best friend who is a freshman here, dressed as Katy Perry from her California Gurls era — befitting USC Halloween. To say that Caroline out-camped me would be an understatement so egregious that it should be tried in The Hague. Synthetic blue hair, oversized and almost theatrical pink cupcakes affixed to a simple white bra — all to be completed by a jean skirt with a white belt? I mean, Miranda Priestly would all but lose her job if she saw this outfit and didn’t put it in the next edition of Runway.

Yes, Katy Perry practically did the same outfit herself, but I think it’s the same thing as the trench coat: taking something chic entirely out of its original context and repurposing it in an individualized way. Here, that is a USC frat party, but hey! Individuality is individuality; creativity is creativity.

—

You may be wondering, “How does he supposedly dislike Halloween after writing 100,000 words about all of his costumes?” Well, Newsflash! (pun intended): I can write 100,000 words about anything so long as it’s about myself.

I don’t like Halloween. I love foliage and pumpkin spice lattes in September and October, and I love turkeys and Christmas music in November and December. (In January and February, I love my anti-depressant.)

Halloween comes as an uninvited interruption of unnecessary stress in what I otherwise find to be a tranquil season, at least for me personally. But when there is a theme, I theme.

In my near-20 years on this earth, if I have come to realize one thing: the only way to survive even the most treacherous challenges is to dress up nice, pour yourself a martini, and try to do it your way.

“Be yourself; everybody else is already taken.” - Kate Moss*

*Editor’s Note: I have been notified that Oscar Wilde, not Kate Moss, said this. Wilde was stripped of much in his life, poor dear, and I should probably not take this from him too. (And yes, obviously, I’m being Kate Moss next year. Stay tuned.)