A New Kind of Scary: The Evolution of Halloween

Remember the scene in Mean Girls when Gretchen makes a snide comment about Cady’s zombie ex-wife costume at her high school Halloween party?

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

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

As a child, the week before Halloween was full of decorative class parties and nostalgic films like the “Halloweentown” series. Open candy wrappers lay on couch cushions and backpack bags while the scent of cinnamon and apple pie wafted from the kitchen. Then came the big day: a night of hand-holding, kitschy decorations, exuberant candy trading, and eager shouts of “Trick-or-treat!” At 10 p.m., I looked into my bag of treasures, my arm struggling to hold the weight of the candy, which I would soon devour, and sighed as a feverish enthusiasm buzzed over my mother’s punishing voice, screaming for me to save some sweets for later.

Soon the picture entered the in-between: the period between the ages of 12 and 15 when I was unclear about what was a socially acceptable activity for me on Halloween. With my height – a whopping 1.50 m – I could pass as a 10-year-old and go trick-or-treating again and again despite my age. But would I be the biggest person in the neighborhood and would my voice be too quiet? Of course, there was always the option of watching Netflix and baking – Pillsbury Doughboy Halloween sugar cookies never get old. But staying home was lame, right?

Over this time, Halloween soon became synonymous with celebration. Long mesh tulle skirts and cheap makeup under the eyes turned into miniskirts and revealing tops. The TikTok series of Halloween costume ideas was the most revealing, as children’s costumes like Buzz Lightyear — the bulky props and foam-reinforced arms — were quickly replaced with items like sequined booty shorts and bright green tube tops.

To be clear, there is nothing wrong with dressing up in costumes like this. As the fall season begins with colder weather (80 degrees), I’m actually looking forward to partaking in this newer tradition: dressing up for the sheer fun of feeling confident and eagerly judging what creative inventions others have come up with big day. (I remember last year seeing a group of friends dressed up as various soda brands – Diet Coke, Sprite, Fanta and more, all of which I found innovative.)

Still, the intent behind Halloween has changed as I’ve gotten older, and I often feel left out for missing out on the cozy, warm night of munching on Kit Kats and waking up with sugar-induced stomach aches.

Samhainophobia, or the fear of Halloween, often arises from a traumatic past event related to the holiday. Haunted houses, horror films, supernatural stories or all of the above. Zombies and vampires and ghosts, oh my god! Unfortunately, my emerging fear doesn’t fit into any of these categories, but rather stems from a deeper tension between social fear of drinking culture and the raging fear of missing out.

A 2023 survey conducted by the American Psychological Association found that of 2,061 adults, nearly two in five reported seeing an increase in stress during the holiday season; 36 percent of respondents said the holidays feel like a competition. After falling down the 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 be a unique source of stress for teens and Become a teenager.

As I reviewed this information, a feeling of familiarity flooded my body. Combined with my introverted personality, the question of whether or not I should drink triggered a hamster wheel of anxious thoughts. How did “being festive” become equated with “going to a party”?

And another dilemma, probably the biggest of all: What do I wear? What clothes do I feel safe in? And why was “finding a costume” now interchangeable with “trying to look as sexy as possible”? As one teenager noted in a Psychology Today article about Halloween scares, “Usually, the sexier the costume, the better.” Not everyone can get away with wearing these [costumes].” Was that the point?

This consortium of “what ifs” ran through my mind from early September until that dreaded day. It was a constant struggle to choose between my inner child and the compliant young adult who didn’t want to be left out.

But has the nature of Halloween actually evolved? Or is it just my perception? Finally, when I compared the two extremes of Halloween preparation, the pared-down versions retained their integrity. The goal of Halloween was and is to dress up and have fun. Regardless of the parameters, “fun” is fun, whatever that may look like to one person or another. And while it may no longer be the silly, mellow holiday it once was, no one is saying you can’t bake Pillsbury Doughboy sugar cookies and go out on Halloween.

While I don’t have a clear answer to this personal dilemma, I can rely on one consolation: the fact that Halloween, at its core, is still a holiday of dressing up, a time of costumes and tricks. Whether I join the spirit of Stars Hollow from “Gilmore Girls” and the silly Target bells and whistles that scream for comfort, I know I can still be the zombie ex-wife or the “Descendants” character . Just like Karen sang in “Mean Girls,” “Don’t you like who you are? / Then go to the costume shop.”