Having recently read an
article about prostitutes in Japan who drop thousands after their shifts on their
own gigolos, thus dropping the final puzzle piece into a hollow picture of total mutual objectification, and having also finished Ariel Levy's
book, "Female Chauvenist Pigs: Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture", I was particularly aware this year of the complete
sluttification of Halloween for women. It's been a topic of conversation with friends in past years, but things seem to be coming to a head as the conversation became vogue this year in the media (NY Times, Salon.com, Stephen Colbert, etc.), and indeed, at the Halloween costume store last week, I was unable to locate any packaged costume for women that didn't involve an ass-revealing mini-skirt, breast-popping bustier, and knee-high socks. So after kicking up my heels to some local bands at a Saturday night Halloween party that featured, by my count, 4 sexy cops, 2 sexy nurses, 2 sexy devils, 2 sexy pirate wenches, a
sexy angel, and about 10 straight-up hookers/dominatrixes, I found it refreshing to skip round two of fleshfest on Halloween night and actually spend it in back-to-basics style with my two-and-a-half year-old nephew Jasper who was dressed as a bunny rabbit and excited to experience trick-or-treating for the first conscious time.
The naivity and innocence were like a salve to my raunch-bombarded soul. After he stepped on a doormat that howled like a werewolf when walking up to one house, I had to check the mat at every door from thereon before he dared approach. Once the coast was clear, he rapped his tiny knuckles on the door, and then pretty much stood in awe at the looming figures that opened and proferred the blessed candy. "What do you say?" we prodded, and his "trick-or-treat" was always earnest and heartfelt. At one home, nobody came to the door after a lengthy rapping (
tapping at their chamber door), and Jasper implored, "Open up!" Alas, his cries were for naught. His little legs gave out around then, and he sat down on the curb, clutching his bag of sugary loot. So I lifted him in my arms and carried him back to his house as the other kids, dressed as princesses and cowboys and mimes and good-ole ghosts, ran past me, shouting excitedly into the night dotted with glowing jack-o-lanterns. My heart swelled with nostalgia and love for the purity of youth. Yes,
these are the kinds of streetwalkers I want to be with tonight, I thought.
