Before you preemptively judge this post and opinion, give me a few minutes to explain myself.

I don’t hate Halloween — I hate ADULT Halloween.

Halloween itself is magical. It’s during the peak of the fall season, it’s almost always super cold outside, and the pumpkin-heavy aesthetic speaks directly to my soul. As a child, it was THE best holiday ever. I mean, all you’re tasked with is going to houses and asking for candy, which they’re required to give you by law. When you’re young enough, you don’t even have to come up with a costume — you leave that daunting task to your mom or dad and suffer through the makeup application and clothing crap to get to the main act: CANDY. And lest we forget the absolute best moment of every child’s life: coming home to compare your loot to your siblings’ and friends’. Dumping all that candy out on the floor to categorize and count every piece is truly the cherry Dum-Dum on top of Halloween (but actually ew because Dum-Dums as Halloween candy is so unimaginative and lame).

And do y’all remember that smell? The scent of assorted Halloween candy is so distinct, so nostalgic. They should sell THAT scent as a 3-wick Bath and Body Works candle, but I guess not really because if that shit was lit in my house, I’d be basically forced against my will to run to Target and buy one of those jumbo variety bags of all things chocolate and end up hating myself mere moments after exiting the store.

So, in conclusion, it’s not that Halloween that I hate. How could I? That Halloween is what I wish Halloween still was. It’s what Halloween turned into once I was in college that I despise.

Tina Fey said it best when she wrote the line:

“In the real world, Halloween is when kids dress up in costumes and beg for candy. In Girl World, Halloween is the one day a year when a girl can dress up like a total slut and no other girls can say anything else about it.”

Even though Mean Girls came out when I was a junior in high school, I had yet to experience this phenomenon. Yet, when my first collegiate Halloween came around, I was smacked in the face with it repeatedly. I was like a home schooled jungle freak pushed into a world full of push-up bras as costumes and too many exposed midriffs to count (even though that hardly means anything nowadays with the resurrection of crop tops, which I really wish would go away). It only took me one Halloween in college to instantly realize

I HATE GROWN-UP HALLOWEEN.

You may find this surprising but, in general, I don’t like costumes. I don’t know why or what that’s about, but for some reason the act of creating then donning a costume has always weirded me out. I find it really awkward and uncomfortable to walk around in a guise (I know. I’m like the fucking Scrooge of Halloween). It’s just — who’s under there? Do I know you? Are you one of those people who take their costumes too seriously and act exactly like that character all night, making for some of the most cringe-worthy conversation moments of my life? I don’t like the unknown and, on Halloween, that’s all there is. I don’t know who the fuck is who and I. DON’T. LIKE IT.

Of course the worst part are the girls who literally cannot wait to get as close to naked as possible in public. It’s truly like they have a countdown calendar all year, marking off each day that gets them closer and closer to putting on nipple petals, a see-thru bra, a child size tutu, heeled over-the-knee boots, and referring to themselves as “A Bad Ballerina.” These girls will leave no stone unturned when it comes to making literally anything you can think of into a “sexy” version. Marble coffee table? There’s a sexy for that. Zoodles with bolognese? All it would take is a skirt made of zoodles with pure meat sauce covering your titties. A sexy walgreens? Tampon earrings, condom nipples, wallpaper fashioned into an off-shoulder crop top with a mini skirt made of discarded sheets of prescription information. Literally, NO STONE.

Plus, everywhere is so crowded. It’s bad enough trying to go out on a normal night in my old age, but Halloween added to the mix makes it damn near insufferable. Again, I don’t know WHO anyone is, I’m scared, and I want to go home.

The only memorable Halloween I participated in was about three years ago when I dressed up as Ilana from Broad City — so basically myself. It was such a simple costume and truly, one I probably would’ve worn back in college so it felt completely natural to sport.

I mean — come on. That Halloween, I was out of town in Chicago visiting my sister, went to a chill house party, and ended up making out with someone WHILST donning this look. So, best grown-up Halloween ever.

But I digress. All of my valid hatred for this holiday ultimately resulted in me deciding a few years back to subscribe to the only kind of Halloween adults should celebrate: A night in with take out (preferably pizza), red wine, and Hocus Pocus + one scary movie. Because, really, once it’s no longer socially acceptable to go around knocking on doors for candy and scantily-clad women are the new “trick” of trick or treat, it’s the best option. Not to say I won’t dabble in a corn maze or haunted house if the mood strikes, but as for costuming myself and going out in said costume for the world to see, hell fucking no. Imma be at home, trick or treating with my wine, snacks, and movies.

Watch me end up dressed in costume this coming Halloween.