Thanks to Instagram, Parents Have to Dress Up on Halloween—But I’m Rebelling
Somewhere in the midst of the hours I regularly spend on the internet (despite complaining that I have no time to do anything), I recently came upon a photo of Chris Noth in full Buzz Lightyear costume. In this vintage (okay, 2010) Halloween gem, the former Mr. Big, once our rakish national sex object, trick-or-treated with his young son, Orion, in head-to-toe Toy Story regalia, complete with purple hood that, I’m sorry to say, rendered his head a bit penile.
This was an admirable level of commitment to Halloween. It makes my heart surge with warm fuzzies that Big—I mean, Noth, would go out in public like this, presumably at his son’s request. But it also served as yet another glaring reminder that the parental Halloween costume is personally unattainable for me as a mother.
In the years since Big-as–Buzz Lightyear (forever seared in my memory), the rise of parents dressing up in tandem with their kids has coincided with—hmm, what a coincidence—the rise of Instagram. Family Halloween costumes are everywhere, and they are adorable: Big Bird moms and The Count sons; Families in the Incredibles’ resplendent red Lycra; three little monkeys flanked by banana parents. The preeminent mom-blogger in my New York neighborhood (and I daresay the country), Naomi Davis of Love Taza, managed to perfectly pose with her family of seven in coordinating Star Wars costumes. The almighty gold standard, of course, remains Beyoncé, Jay-Z, and Blue Ivy as a trio of Barbie dolls, their hands and necks in stiff, plastic poses.
I look on with awe, because I cannot conceive of a way that this would ever happen in my family. Firstly, both of my children change their minds (or attempt to change their minds) multiple times in the weeks after I actually buy their costumes (right after I pat myself on the back for crossing it off my to-do list) based on their ever-shifting favorite characters. My daughter can claim on September 30 that she wants to be Jasmine, but by October 31, you better believe I’ll be sending a Vampirina out the door. Even if my husband and I were prepared to be the Ursula and Triton to her Ariel and my son’s Eric, it’s truly a moving target. And speaking of my son: He has his own passions—Spider-Man, mainly—and I wouldn’t dare try to persuade a two-year-old to dress up as a supporting accessory. Then there’s our own personal preferences: mine tends toward the witchy, and I’d bet my husband secretly would like to go as a Phish band member. All of which is to say, I salute the family-costumed among us for being able to agree on a theme.
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The even more unfeasible part of dressing up as a parent, or crafting the perfectly clever family Halloween motif, though, is that it feels, to my admittedly delicate equilibrium, like another layer of expectation and another thing to probably fail at. The often-overlooked truth about Halloween is that emotions are running high, and the threat of a meltdown lurks at every corner, what with all the hype, hustle, and bustle, performances and parades—and also the bonkers amount of sugar. My son, Spider-Man, sobbed all morning, already overwhelmed; last year he was the only child in his entire preschool parade to eschew a costume, unable to bear the idea of putting on his Stay Puft Marshmallow Man sailor suit. Miraculously, after many rapt viewings of Spider-Man: Into the Spider Verse, this year my daughter stuck with her originally announced Spider-Girl. I’m merely aiming to keep the peace, navigate trick-or-treating in the rain and get my work done before cutting the day short at 2:30 p.m. But now, according to the ambient pressure in the air on Instagram, my husband and I are supposed to don furry unicorn suits too?
As Christina Geist, bestselling author of the children’s book Sorry, Grown-Ups, You Can’t Go to School!, said this week, “I don’t think parents should be pressured by Instagram to wear matching family Halloween costumes. There. I said it.”
Geist reminded me of the underlying social media standard that is steadily seeping into every holiday: On top of having fun—getting those fun-size Twix and waking up with twinkly eyes on Christmas morning!—and actually living the experience with your kids, there is an impulse to create Instagrammable #content: Jolly back-to-school signs! Matching elf pajamas! Some fabulous people come by this naturally—Beyoncé, mom bloggers, and Mr. Big, mainly. But for me, for now, it feels like much too much. I can dream of the day I, Glinda, will pose with my husband, the Wizard; my daughter, Dorothy; son, the Tin Man; and Toto, the dog we don’t have yet, on a homemade yellow brick road. Until then, I’ll be liking all of your family costume posts from beneath my non-matching witch hat.
Originally Appeared on Vogue
