The biggest fight my best friend Sabrina and I ever got into was senior year when she got mad at me for not having enough school spirit. Like legit. She was pissed I left the homecoming rally early, which she so diligently coordinated. And at the time, I couldn’t fathom how my disinterest in a lame school function was remotely insulting to her. Leadership was a class, not a personality trait. It’s not like the student body even cared to nominate us.
Eventually, we squashed it. And by squashed, I mean we ignored each other at the pre-party until we finally had a spat and moved on. Shoutout to our Middle Eastern roots for our healthy conflict resolution skills.
Really, it wasn’t about school spirit. It was about holding up my end of our friendship. Sabrina handles the itinerary and I bring the chaotic positive energy. So being a bitter witch about homecoming was a clear violation of our otherwise perfect arrangement.
She and I have always been the odd couple. We’ve been the only two Middle Eastern kids in our group since seventh grade. Sabrina’s Assyrian, I’m Persian. I’m a whole foot taller than her. She was an athlete, I got a C in PE. I’m unconcerned with logistics. She revels in the details. Which is why she now manages my stock portfolio.
She’s the last to leave the club but the first at sunrise yoga. Pocket-sized but mighty, she’ll fight any injustice, including being denied entry to a club.
Once in Mykonos, she spent hours trying to convince an ATV rental guy to give us our own four-wheelers while I was experiencing such a debilitating hangover that I excused myself to puke in a nearby alley. Unfortunately, everyone heard my retching. And Sabrina still made the case for why I was perfectly fit to operate heavy machinery.
The girl loves an activity. Game nights. Craft nights. Music and wellness events. Just yesterday, Sabrina informed me that she’d spontaneously booked a party bus for Halloween. I am to drive to her house in Venice, get on said party bus, attend the event downtown, spend the night back at hers, take a sewing class the next day (? literally what), then drive back to the East Side. Glad that’s sorted…
But she knows that I’m a terrible planner. Not to be confused with being antisocial. God forbid I find out something happened without me. I just want zero of the administrative labor.
Clearly a trait I did not inherit from my mother, our family’s planner-in-chief. She’d throw a party for a successful root canal. Full production. Open bar. Intricate outfits. And without notice, I go from lounging daughter to involuntary intern, cooking a full eggplant parm for her dinner guests while coming off anesthesia from a colonoscopy. (It still slapped.)
My friends and family usually flood the group chats with plans but as my friend Corey says, every attempt to confirm with me is met with a frantic “IDK, COREY. I DON’T HAVE MY CRYSTAL BALL RIGHT NOW.” I’m sorry but why are we putting deadlines on leisure?
Birthdays, holidays, group trips. Everyone cares so I feel like I should too. But caring takes soooooo much effort.
And what even is Halloween? As kids, it was a way to ditch homework and demand candy. Then you get older and the candy is replaced with alcohol and thirst traps. Halloween becomes an entirely different monster with so many contradictory rules. Like being anyone but yourself while also proving how individual you really are. Fine. But like… in a hot or ugly way?
I outsourced the question to my Instagram followers. Most voted hot. I agree. You think anyone’s going to look at a #2 Ticonderoga and be like yup, gotta have that.
But if I’m not niche, am I culturally illiterate? How about I just show up in a crop top and whiskers with my screen time plastered to my forehead? Would that satisfy everyone? Haven’t I suffered enough? Can we just be five shots deep at the function already? I’m tired. Should we just stay in?
That simply isn’t an option this year. I’ve been invited to both a house and warehouse party. The details have been figured out for me. I have no excuse. I must circumvent the horrors of the holiday and suck it up.
So if you’re in the same boat, might I interest you in…
A Hater’s Guide to Halloween:
Group Costumes Require Clear Communication — Make sure everyone agrees on the theme’s interpretation. Otherwise four of you might come dressed as Victoria’s Secret Angels while one shows up as the manager of the Glendale Galleria location. (although kinda fire?)
When in Doubt, Stick to the Classics — Vampires and witches are timeless. But leave the ghosts on Raya.
Don’t Make Your Niche My Homework — No offense, but if I don’t get it on the first try, spare me the TED Talk. I’m being polite because you’re blocking the bar.
Clear Your Schedule — Nothing like waking up late for a meeting, still covered in fake wounds, and deciding the only solution is to scrub your chest raw with a pumice stone. Now they’re real. Sorry I’m not into knockoffs.
Shop Your Wardrobe — Remember that hideous shirt everyone told you not to buy? Who’s laughing now?
You Don’t Have to Commit to the Bit — I once showed up to a party as Mia Wallace. As did every other girl there. No problem. I chucked my wig in a bush and said I was Michael Jackson.
Don’t Chase the Party — Just when you've conquered the bathroom line at party #1, someone's already called the Uber to party #2. Now you're nauseous in the backseat, pissed that your crush didn't see your highly original take on Shrek with a Kris Jenner facelift. And you have to pee. Again.
Get Your Photos, Then Get Popping – Snap the group shot before 11. By midnight, everyone should be deep into mischief. We have an extended Halloween thanks to daylight savings. If you slide into the DMs during the extra hour, did it even happen?
If You’re Hosting a Party, I Want a Production, Baby — Give me a haunted house. Smoke machines, strobe lights, scary bits. I rose from the dead to be here. Now wow me.
Don’t Be a Goblin – Someone took initiative so that you didn’t have to feel like a loser. The least you can do is participate. Even if it means taking a sewing class the next morning.
Oddly enough, writing this essay has made me… dare I say? … excited? Though I will not be making any special accommodations. I’ll do anything to avoid a Spirit Halloween. The fluorescent lights. The smell of stale plastic and chalky makeup. The half-open bags of fishnets and capes. I’m getting chills just thinking about it.
Friday, I’m going to a witchy house party. As we’ve previously established, I’m Persian so my mostly black wardrobe and general aura are already fitting. The next night’s theme is Enchanted Forest. And of course, I already own a tree-shaped crop top that I bought at a random boutique in France.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned from a lifetime of exceptional organizers, it’s that sometimes complaining is a stepping stone to greatness. Kidding! It’s that somebody has to care enough to turn fun into an occasion. Thankfully, Sabrina booked the party bus. And when I told my mother about my packed schedule, she nearly cried with joy.
“Thank God! I’m so bored by your constant stream of dinners. Why not something fun, like a themed party?”
Right, well we might have two different definitions of fun… but I’m going to try to be a little less resistant this year. As long as I get some cute pics. I’m obviously not showing up as an uggo.
[A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR]:
For the record, I occasionally handle logistics for Sabrina, too.
and i'm still mad about senior year homecoming rally btw
I can’t even begin to imagine what a tree-shaped crop top is but I’m so excited to see it on Saturday