Guess what? I'm in the September issue of Vogue!
Not really.
But, I am in the October issue of Boston Parents.
Yes, really. My essay "Tweens and Halloween: Sexy Penguin Anyone?" appears on page 10.
If you happen to live in the greater Boston area, you can pick up a copy. Or, thanks to the wonderful world of the web, you can take a look at the issue here. Finally, for your convenience — not to mention your reading pleasure — I've included the essay below:
Halloween is trickier than it used to be. Like everything else, the upcoming holiday becomes a bit more complicated when your little girl becomes a little woman. A catsuit on a 4-year old is adorable. A catsuit on a 14-year old is suddenly a little too tight, a little too curvy, a little too much.
In our household (like so many I know), everything we do is last minute. So, there I was last year, the Saturday before Halloween, at a costume shop in a neighboring town.
Trying to get in and out of a Halloween store the weekend before that holiday is easier said than done. It took me less than five minutes to choose some masks we needed. It took me another 35 to get through the long line that snaked along the perimeter of the shop. I went by an aisle of adorable baby costumes (bees, lady bugs, pumpkins), by another filled with creepy decorations and animated lawn ornaments. Then, I hit trick or treat pay dirt.
The aisle of Halloween hoochies.
I had arrived at the tweens and teens section, a land where less is truly more. As in: less fabric, more skin. The typical costume included a bare-midriff or corset top; a short, short skirt; and some combination of fishnet stockings, long gloves, garters, a headpiece and/or wings. It was like Halloween with The Girls Next Door at the Playboy Mansion. (Every package, btw, featured a pretty, pouting model who looked about 14.)
There were sexy nurses, sexy vampires, sexy fairies, sexy superheroes, sexy gypsies, sexy pirate wenches. Then there were the sexy animals. Some that made sense (in a warped way), like sexy kittens, foxes and bunnies. Some that didn't, like sexy penguins. Sexy penguins???
Last, but not least, there were the sexy inanimate objects. Sexy crayons, sexy beer bottles, sexy pizza slices, and my all-time favorite: sexy candy corn.
Because nothing says “Happy Halloween” like a sexy piece of candy corn. I’d never seen anything quite like it. Sort of a bodacious St. Pauly Girl look, a buxom blonde in an Alpine-inspired (perky bust extending above the shelf of her bodice) dress. Plus, of course, garters, stockings, high heels. But, the strange thing was that the entire sleazy outfit was made to look like a piece of candy corn.
I understand that the whole thrill behind wearing a costume is that it gives you a chance to put on another piece of your personality. But why do so many of the options for young girls feel more like taking off than putting on?
Happily, my own daughter is still more interested in collecting Kit Kat bars and hanging out with her friends than in letting it all hang out. This year, she's either going to be a pirate or a hippie. (And, with a little oversight from her mother, she will not be a slutty pirate wench or a hippie who is tripping on acid at Woodstock and forgot which VW van she left her top in.)
Sometimes, I do wish we could go back to the more innocent days of Teletubbies and Disney princesses. I guess I'll just have to settle for the little ones who come to the door.
Next year? Vogue, for sure.
If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.
A client and friend of mine just posted a picture of her daughter's school project. It's a model of a waterside town, built into a large plastic container. There are tiny houses on a hillside next to a coast made out of pebbles. The purpose of the project, I gather, is to demonstrate flooding. It's the perfect hands-on way to teach a child about something bigger than she is.
Boy, I miss those days!
When my now teenage daughter was little, I was all about the art projects. Any time she came home with an assignment, I'd roll up my sleeves and — joyfully — jump in. Several stand out in my mind:
• The biography poster of George Washington. We photocopied about a zillion quarters, colored them in with silver pencils, and created a frame around it.
• The shoebox diorama of William Dawes, Paul Revere's compatriot. This might be an odd choice except that Dawes rode a horse. Even in second grade, my daughter let her love of horses drive ... well ... pretty much everything.
• The Christmas wreath made out of a paper plate, green streamers and holiday images cut out of magazines. (We still hang it in the kitchen every December.)
• The poster illuminating the mineral gypsum. We included several photos of my daughter, pointing to important information, scratching her head over puzzling facts, and smiling broadly at the conclusion (in hopes of getting an A, no doubt).
• The boat that was supposed to hold 32 glass marbles without sinking. (This one was a joint effort with her father, I have to say. It stayed afloat. Almost.)
• The Valentine's Day mailbox made out of an oatmeal container, Kleenex box, craft paper, yarn and googly eyes. (Can you guess what it was supposed to be? The head of a horse, of course.)
In addition to the ones for school (and there were dozens, if not hundreds, of those), we did our own art projects together on weekends. Costumes and masks and puppets and scrapbook and models and jewelry and, and, and ...
Early on, my daughter got a little bored with all the creativity I was encouraging. But, her friends still loved it. Often, when another girl would come over for a playdate, she'd say "Can we do an art project?" My daughter would roll her eyes but go along with her friend (and her mom).
We ended up with a lot of supplies. In the past few weeks, I've been trying to clean out our basement. I've come across dried-up tubes of paint ("make your own tee shirt"), empty cigar boxes ("make your own shadow box"), boxes of beads ("make your own friendship bracelet"). There are markers and pads of construction paper, bags of glitter and glue sticks, paper dolls and little plastic horses.
I'm keeping some for my niece, giving some to the school thrift store, and throwing some (all right, a lot) away.
Audible sigh.
I've said this before. No one warns you when it's the last time you'll read Good-Night Moon. No one warns you when it's the last time you'll watch The Little Mermaid (or, in our case, Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron).
And, no one warns you when it's the last time you'll do an art project together.
That's probably why I've kept all this junk in the basement for so many years. Well, that and the fact that my natural inclination lies somewhere over in "pack rat" territory.
If I so much as vaguely suggested a family art project now, my daughter would look at me like I had two heads. The idea's way too lame and she's way too busy. She has high school, she has riding, she has a part-time job. In less than three weeks, she'll take (and probably pass, Lord help me) her driving test. Then, she'll be free to leave me and my boxes of art supplies behind.
Meanwhile, I continue to organize and, sadly, purge. Really, if we haven't so much as opened the "Super Spirograph," the modeling clay, or the pot holder loom in ten years, we can probably do without them.
Everyone, including my daughter, supports my basement project. What they don't know is that I have a top-secret and not-negotiable portfolio stashed under my bed.
Let me know if you want to see that George Washington poster.
If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.
For your Halloween reading pleasure, here is one of my all-time most popular Alien posts. Enjoy!
"Trick or treat?"
Halloween is trickier than it used to be. Like everything else, the upcoming holiday becomes a bit more complicated when your little girl becomes a little woman. A catsuit on a 4-year old is adorable. A catsuit on a 14-year old is suddenly a little too tight, a little too curvy, a little too much.
We live in the town next door to Salem, Massachusetts. As you probably learned in school, Salem Village (which is technically Danvers now) was the site of a horrible witch hunt, trials and public hangings some three hundred twenty years ago. If you study the period (or just rent the movie The Crucible), you recognize that what happened was a shameful result of ignorance, greed, religious intolerance and mass hysteria. Not really history that a town should be particularly proud of.
However, today, Salem has proclaimed itself Halloweentown. All through October, there are street fairs, carnival rides and "haunted happenings." I kind of understand the witch attractions (although I think they're disrespectful to the memories of those falsely accused and put to death in 1692). I don't understand the vampire attractions, except — I guess — vampires are trendy right now thanks to Twilight and True Blood. Regardless, the town makes a lot of merry (and a lot of money) throughout the month. And, those of us who live in the area avoid it at all costs.
A couple of years ago, my brother and his family came to visit us. They wanted to experience a Salem Halloween, so I drove them to the border and dropped them off, hightailing it home. When they had had enough ghosts and ghouls and things that go bump in the night, I had to go back into the fray to collect them. One wrong turn and I was stuck in a hellish traffic jam. I tried to be zen about it, breathing, meditating, and taking the opportunity to do some unparalleled people-watching. The costumes on the happy Halloweeners were tremendous. There were countless witches, zombies, psychotic clowns, pirates, headless horsemen. And then I saw her ...
The Candy Corn Ho.
I had never seen anything quite like it. Sort of a bodacious St. Pauly Girl look, a buxom blonde in an Alpine-inspired (perky bust extending above the shelf of her bodice) short short dress. Garters, stockings, high heels. But, the strange thing was that the entire sleazy outfit was made to look like a piece of candy corn.
Halloween costumes for young women veer toward the slutty, no doubt. There are naughty nurses, precocious schoolgirls, lingerie-clad witches, Playboy bunnies. I'm probably not the target audience, but I would assume that these outfits (or lack thereof) correspond to (a) the woman's inner vision of her own secret centerfold nature and (b) a man's fantasy of what makes a hot chick hot. I don't like it, but I get it.
But, when did candy corn become sexy?
I did a little research. Here is the evolution of the Candy Corn Ho, from sweet baby to tempting teen to all out hoochie mama:
Happily, my tween daughter is still more interested in collecting Kit Kat bars and hanging out with her friends than in letting it all hang out. This year, she's either going to be a pirate or a hippie. (And, with a little oversight from her mother, she will not be a slutty pirate wench or a hippie who is tripping on acid at Woodstock and forgot which VW van she left her top in.)
Hoochie ho's aside, Halloween will be fun. But, I do wish we could go back to the more innocent days of Teletubbies and Disney princesses. I'll just have to settle for the little ones who come to the door.
Here's a holiday treat from one of my favorite urban folk singers, Jill Sobule. Happy Halloween.
