TRICKER TREAT!

Hallowe'en used to be about three things:

1) Choosing a costume warm enough to not end up so cold that you have to cut your candy run short (such is life in Ontario's October),

2) Trading candy with my brother once we had return home, dumping our cloth bags on his bedroom floor, and bartering Crispy Crunches and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, and,

3) Avoiding Glosettes at all costs.

 The purple package of pain.

The purple package of pain.

Post-puberty, Hallowe'en came to be as confusing and seemingly unnecessary as the apostrophe between its "e"s. An excuse for drinking, a minefield of female sexualization and unisex cultural appropriation, and, from my perspective, a willingness to waste hours and dollars on altering one's appearance for the sake of clever Instagram photos. Somehow, attempting to carry this holiday into my adulthood feels like robbing my childhood of its peculiar memories, laughing for delight with friends whenever a house would present us with full Coffee Crisp bars or cans of Mountain Dew. We've grown up, and now we buy our own treats, and attempt restrain from the omnipresent candy aisle every day of the year.

This year, I am fortunate enough to be seeing Courtney Barnett and Kurt Vile on Hallowe'en - perhaps this will help rekindle my appreciation for the holiday, re-centring it around loved ones and true, grown-up treats (how sweet is a once-in-a-lifetime concert to a 23-year-old?). In the meantime, here's to pondering how holidays change between childhood and adulthood. Looking back, those homemade Rice Krispy squares didn't need to be thrown out - they probably didn't have razor blades in them.

Here's a song about all this.

Love,

S

Sam Boer