2007, 2008, 2009. What do these years have in common?
Besides being sequential segments of time as determined by the Gregorian calendar, these are all years I famously went as a 1920s flapper for Halloween.
Now before you start getting all “judgey” on me, I want to assure you that in other areas of my life, I actually *do* like change, experimenting, and “mixing it up” (this morning, for instance, I added chia seeds to my smoothie when I usually go for flax!).
But when it comes to Halloween, I believe in something called tradition — and by tradition I mean the sacred practice of Being Attractive At All Costs No Matter What the Holiday* (*Because Society Demands It Of Me).
Some people question the decision. I don’t.
For starters, flappers are a historically very cute / borderline hot Halloween costume. They let you show off your glamorous side and make good use of those long strands of pearls you bought in 2005. And if you play your cards (and your boa) right, that “borderline hot” classification could very well be upgraded to “gorgeous” (swoon!).
Additionally, you get to crimp your hair and throw on a tastefully-jeweled headband with an erect feather in it which in my mind says to the other girls at the party: I win.
All in all and in conclusion, it is not wrong to go as a flapper each and every year for Halloween. Name me another costume where I can wear satin gloves up to the elbow and I’ll gladly reconsider. Until then? You’ll find me sleeping like a baby. A *Manhattan* baby. Because *that’s* another word for flappers. I think.