For as long as I can remember, I have been enchanted by the transformative joy of playing dress‑up. Hand me a costume and even the faintest excuse to wear it, and I am instantly transported to my personal sanctuary of creativity and delight. This enduring fascination is precisely why Halloween has always stood as my most cherished holiday — a rare and celebratory window in which imaginative reinvention is not merely allowed but openly celebrated. It is the one season that grants social permission to abandon ordinary identity and revel freely in make‑believe, encouraging each of us to explore other selves that usually remain hidden beneath our everyday attire.
My earliest and most beloved costume memory reaches back to my preschool days, when my Aunt Cindy, guided by equal measures of affection and ingenuity, crafted a butterfly costume entirely by hand. She transformed plain canvas fabric into vibrant wings using her own sewing expertise and an arsenal of spray paints. Compared to today’s endlessly polished, Pinterest‑inspired creations, her homemade design might appear simple, perhaps even quaint, and yet, at the time, I considered it perfection incarnate. My youthful delight was written all over my face; the joy I felt in that costume outshone anything money could have purchased.
That cherished beginning marked the genesis of what would evolve into a lifelong passion — an ever‑expanding costume trunk. As a child performing in school plays and, later, as a drama club devotee, I routinely set aside certain dresses, jackets, or accessories, carefully saving them for future appearances. By the time I reached my early twenties and was navigating a dizzying sequence of tiny New York City apartments, I had an official suitcase devoted entirely to this pursuit. That singular trunk became a repository for wigs, sequins, masks, and thematic outfits — a wardrobe of possibilities that could be summoned for Halloween, Mardi Gras, New Year’s festivities, or even an impromptu theme party on a Friday night. Over time, one suitcase became two, a tangible symbol of an ever‑growing creative life.
Years later, when I packed up everything to relocate across the world — then a newly married and expectant traveler bound for Singapore — practicality demanded that I part with half of my treasures. When fate eventually brought me back to Florida as a single mother and, later, as a newly remarried woman building a home in Colorado, my collection had again contracted to a single, well‑worn but beloved hard‑sided Samsonite. It now sits proudly in a corner of my closet, a comforting emblem of creativity connecting the many chapters of my life. I share that space with my husband and our blended family of three spirited boys, aged seventeen, fifteen, and ten, whose energy fills the house with equal parts chaos and laughter.
My youngest — my biological son — has clearly inherited both my aesthetic sensibilities and my affection for sartorial playfulness. He wears bow ties to school with an earnest sense of pride, aspiring to earn a nickname worthy of his commitment — “the Bowtie Guy.” This Halloween, he took his costuming very seriously, ordering an array of Kyōjurō Rengoku outfits inspired by the anime *Demon Slayer*, carefully evaluating each one before keeping only the costume that perfectly met his vision.
Although I’m certainly not opposed to the ease of a store‑bought or rented ensemble, my greatest satisfaction comes from the act of creation itself. I relish combining wardrobe staples with unexpected thrift store discoveries, layering inexpensive online finds and occasional freebies to craft something uniquely my own. My proudest Halloween triumph remains the year I constructed three completely distinct firefighter outfits for my kindergarten‑aged son, who at the time lived and breathed firehouse fantasies. For his school celebration, I fashioned a classic fireman costume; for a community event, I cleverly repurposed elements to transform him into Marshall from *PAW Patrol*; and for a final festivity, he marched proudly as a zombie fireman, complete with a cardboard axe appearing to jut from his hat. Each portrayal was unified by a simple yet charming accessory — bright red plastic helmets gifted by our local fire station. That memory perfectly encapsulates why I find such fulfillment in this creative tradition.
As I often joke, diamonds may captivate others, but for me, the humble hot‑glue gun remains a woman’s most loyal ally. Those who share my enthusiasm for dress‑up understand the cultural magic of assembling a reusable costume collection — a trove of pieces that can be reinvented in myriad ways. For those seeking to build their own, a few key investments are worth keeping close.
First, good wigs are essential allies in the art of transformation. Perhaps this conviction stems from my early admiration for Dolly Parton and her unapologetically extravagant array of platinum wigs, each one a testament to self‑expression without restraint. Over time, I experimented with inexpensive synthetics before discovering the unparalleled realism and longevity of wigs made from genuine hair. My short black pageboy has served faithfully across many incarnations — Cleopatra, flapper, vampire — proving its versatility through the years. Later, I added a long, golden, wavy wig that has carried me through a dazzling range of characters, from the flower‑child Jenny of *Forrest Gump* to disco icons and ’80s‑era pinups.
Like any fine garment, wigs require consistent care. They must be kept brushed and stored neatly in protective plastic bags, and when revived for wear, it helps to let them rest naturally on an improvised stand — even a lampshade works in a pinch — allowing their shape to fall gracefully before the performance begins.
Next comes organization: an underappreciated skill that can elevate dressing up from stressful scramble to pure enjoyment. My ability to embody Wonder Woman, Princess Leia, or an assortment of other characters on short notice owes everything to the simple habit of storing each costume as a complete, self‑contained set. Store‑bought ensembles remain folded neatly in their original packaging, separated by tissue paper to preserve their structure, while one‑of‑a‑kind thrifted treasures — such as a silver disco dress, a leather fringe vest adorned with anti‑Vietnam War buttons, or a playful orange‑and‑black Halloween frock — each hang together in a dedicated corner of my closet, awaiting their next debut.
Accessories, of course, provide the finishing touches that bring any costume to life. My ever‑expanding array includes everything from spiked black chokers and fragile Hawaiian leis to flamenco shawls, feather boas, flower crowns, aviator sunglasses, and even the occasional rhinestone‑tipped tiara. Beyond their use for formal costuming, these playful adornments add spontaneous flair to karaoke nights or friendly game gatherings at home. Experience, however, has taught me restraint when it comes to certain supplementary items — makeup, adhesive mustaches, and false eyelashes deteriorate quickly, often losing freshness or collecting bacteria, so they are best purchased anew only when the occasion calls for them.
While I understand that donning an extravagant hat or shimmering cape might make some adults squirm, my philosophy remains unwavering: life is simply richer when we allow ourselves moments of whimsy. Halloween, after all, passes in a blink; yet the sense of magic it brings does not have to vanish with the falling leaves. For me, the costume trunk represents far more than fabric and props. It stands as a tangible reminder that creativity, reinvention, and sheer joy always lie just within reach — waiting patiently for the next spark of imagination to lift the lid. Long live the costume trunk, and long live the art of joyful disguise.
Sourse: https://www.businessinsider.com/halloween-costume-trunk-filled-with-wigs-dresses-accessories-makeup-2025-10
