Death to the Sexy Bunny

          I'm not a huge fan of Halloween. I understand that its fun to put on a costume and pretend to be someone you're not; after all I am a theatre geek. But in New York, Halloween gives crazies and rapists an opportunity to do their dirty deeds in plain view of everyone, without someone raising an eyebrow. If someone got stabbed during the parade, onlookers would scream out in glee, while the victim was gasping for his last breath. When he finally died, everyone else would call him overdramatic. I know this because I saw this exact scenario on CSI:NY and we all know that show is straight truth. Duh.
        Besides the opportunity for murder, Halloween is really the holiday of the whore. Hoes get to prance around in their native garb and not feel the backlash of years worth of feminism spitting in their faces. Young women (and some not so young women) are frolicking around the nation in lingerie and cat ears without even a dose of guilt or self-reproach. And why should they? They aren't actually hoes, they're just pretending to be one. I'm a huge supporter for women being able to wear whatever they want without being objectified for it; but they can be judged for it. Like the great Dave Chappelle once said "You may not be a hoe, but you are dressed in a hoe's uniform. And that shit is confusing".
         Which brings me back to the point of this blurb, I don't wear hoe outfits on Halloween. I don't wear hoe outfits usually. For me, it screams of low self-esteem and a virulent need to attract a man's attention. I'm not above feeling desired and wanted by the lesser sex, but the kind of interest I want to pique isn't because I have a huge rack ( but if you're a male reader, you should know that I do have a huge rack. Wink wink). There are times when dressing like a mistress of the night is appropriate; mainly when you want to do things that a mistress does. You just broke up with your boyfriend? Slut it up. You failed your chemistry midterm and your professor is a bit of a perve? Hoe it down. Outside these general situations, cover your shit up.   
        You may ask what outfits that I wear on the sacred All Hallow's Eve. Typically I've been either some form of a superhero or an empowered feminine icon. Basically either Jean Grey from X-men or Cleopatra (if you don't think that Cleo was a bad bitch, you didn't watch enough Histeria when you were a kid). Sure the outfits involved skin tight spandex, but when I walk in the club (they hating on me cause I know I look good. I took the night....Sorry that song is the jam and I couldn't help myself), most guys are more astonished that a girl is into comics rather than my knockers knocking him in the face. He doesn't mind the latter obviously.
          Don't take my rambling too serious. After all you should be able to be whomever or whatever you want this holiday season. But don't say I didn't warn you, because you know who's never a murder victim on the ten o'clock news? The bitch that was dressed as a telepathic crime-fighter. Take that, Sexy Bunny.

ETA: No offense to my friends who have been sexy bunnies every year. My personal preferences weren't meant to berate your stylistic choices. You have fun doing you and don't think that I'm judging you. I am, but I don't want you to think that. Bisous.