Dressed for Success

Monday is Halloween and, as usual, I'm a little nervous.

When I was a little kid, getting dressed up to go trick-or-treating was never a big deal--year after year, I'd put on my dad's white coat and stethoscope, take my grandfather's battered black doctor's bag in hand and metamorphose into a pre-teen physician for the evening. Sure, it wasn't that original, but I was so cute I put Doogie Howser to shame.

Those days are gone now. Cuteness doesn't take me as far as it used to. As a Harvard student, I'm supposed to think of a new, creative and witty costume each and every year. Invariably, I put the decision off until the last minute, then I get nervous, and then I succumb to peer pressure and dress up as something I regret (like the time my friend Allie turned me into a gypsy woman for an evening).

Not this year. This year, I'm planning ahead. In fact, I'm bursting with so many ideas. I don't know which to choose. Let's see...

If I wanted to be really trendy, I could dress up as a bell curve. That would get people talking.

Of course, that might be a little too controversial for what is, after all, a festive occasion. It may be better to be a little less conspicuous. If I could just devise some way of becoming invisible for a few hours, I could go as the Coop rebate, or as Mayor Reeves's 1992 tax returns.

Then again, Halloween is a good time to make a political statement. Maybe I should just don a prison outfit, and go as a convicted felon--say, Cambridge City Councillor Bill Walsh, or any member of the Undergraduate Council.

Creative ideas, I agree. But probably not risque enough in the event I decide to drop by the Adams House Masquerade, where clothing is optional--and most people opt against it. I know, I'll dress up as the pornographic exhibit now on display at Cambridge City Hall. Absolutely nobody will recognize me as a dildo.

On second thought, that's probably too risque for my blood. Besides, tradition calls for Halloween costumes that are so ugly they scare you half to death. Something like Dracula, or Medusa, or that monstrous sign that used to grace the entrance to the Shops by Harvard Yard. (If only I, like Harvard Real Estate, had an extra $120,000 to drop on something so blatantly stupid.)

Speaking of which, I could put on a tuxedo, stand under a running shower for a few moments and go as Dylan R. Nieman '97, the first-year who set off Hollis's fire suppression system with his tuxedo shirt and flooded the dorm. Or, wearing that same tux. I could spill a little beer on myself (enough to stink), act loud, drunk and obnoxious, and go as a member of one of Harvard's nine all-male final clubs.

Better yet, I could put on a tight dress and stand around outside the clubs, mourning my exclusion from the ranks of the elite. That's it, I'll go as a Woman Appealing for Change.

Still, this is Harvard, and I really should show a little more school spirit. I could put on shoulder guards and a helmet and pretend to be a member of the football team. On the other hand, with all that padding, someone's liable to mistake me for a resume at the Career Forum.

Decisions, decisions. At this rate, I'll probably end up resorting to the old standby white coat and stethoscope. Maybe this year, I'll sew the initials "UHS" on the breast pocket. Now that would be scary.

Stephen E. Frank's column appears on alternate Fridays.