My favorite part of Halloween as a kid was bartering candy with my friends after trick-or-treating.
I separated my candy by rainbow colors. One friend separated them by category (chocolates here, sugary sweets there). Another would sort them hierarchically, placing their treasured favorites at the top, an elite of Milky Way bars and green apple Jolly Ranchers. The bottom rung of her feudalistic candy system would be littered with black licorice and York Peppermint patties.
The evening began in relative light, but there was always a growing thrill at seeing the sun go down and the pumpkin-orange houselights turn on. The jack-o’-lanterns started glowing, the other neighborhood kids emerged as witches and devils, and parents propped open front doors to pass out treats.
The night ended with cotton candy glued to our fingertips, feather masks and gilded, cardstock crowns from handcrafted costumes discarded, shiny chocolate foils unravelled and “The Monster Mash” funneled through my mom’s old radio, punctuated by static buzz.
Halloween traditions, when I was younger, were much different from how they are now.
They were largely uncomplicated, and yet we revered such simplistic joy. As long as we were with friends and family, it didn’t matter that we knew exactly how the night would go and exactly how it would end every time.
The familiarity of tradition and routine was a comfort. At the same time, it was a tradition that let us break our daily routine.
In college, Halloween plans are more intense. My friends and I stack as many activities as humanly possible into the three-day Halloweekend window. College Halloween is about optimization. Maximizing how many costumes we wear, pictures we take, events we attend and events we host. We plan as much as possible, but much of the time we don’t know how the night is going to play out.
That novelty is exciting, for sure. But sometimes, you don’t need novelty to make something special.
I love a Halloweekend house party as much as the next person, don’t get me wrong! But there is something magical about the old childhood traditions that originally gave this holiday its appeal.
I think that magic boils down to three factors: community, tactility and unselfconsciousness.
And I’d like to argue that no matter how long ago your childhood was, you can still reclaim that Halloween magic now, whether it looks a bit different or looks exactly the same.
For one, trick-or-treating brought communities together across neighborhoods. Parents, relatives, young children, their cousins, their friends and often their older teenaged siblings would all mingle in the same street. Unless someone intentionally hosted a block party, this kind of face-to-face interaction
When was the last time that happened? In my neighborhood, at least, I rarely see kids trick-or-treating.
It’s strange to think that such a playful, low-stakes opportunity for community building doesn’t exist where I live anymore.
Childhood Halloween was also so tactile. We went to the store for costumes, flicking through each option hanging on coat racks. Or we made them ourselves, with cardboard, glitter glue and recycled t-shirts. We plunged our hands without abandon into the cold, wet seeds of pumpkins ready for carving. Trick-or-treating invited all the senses: the smell of chocolate and cold air, the sugary taste of cotton candy, the feeling of rummaging through a plastic basket of treats, the sight of neighbors and illuminated houses, the sound of Halloween reruns or radio music.
That’s not to say we can’t still carve pumpkins or appreciate the sensory side of Halloween as adults. But modern Halloween is noticeably more streamlined, and as a result, lacks much of the slowness that lends us that sensory experience. For example, costumes and decorations are largely purchased through online shops, meaning the experience is limited to a few quick taps on an iPhone screen.
Halloween feels like it has evolved into a consumer event rather than an event that promotes creativity and out-of-the-box imagination.
In line with that, the Halloween of my childhood felt completely unselfconscious. Maybe that was in part because children themselves are comparatively unselfconscious. Photos were rarely at the forefront of people’s minds (except maybe parents), and so they acted more spontaneously and were less concerned about how they presented themselves.
At the end of the day, there are a ton of reasons why we should reclaim the childhood traditions that made Halloween magical. One of them could simply be that trick-or-treating was a blast, and honestly, I’d love to do it even as an adult.
Ultimately, are you Team Novelty or Team Nostalgia? Are you sticking with a “Modern Halloweekend” or reclaiming childhood traditions this October? Let us know at @HerCampusSJSU!