I love Halloween. I always have. Candy, costumes, celebrating for no clear reason — these are, without debate, the best things ever. I tend to take costumes pretty seriously. If I get an idea in my head, you will need to sedate me and surgically remove the idea from my brain in order to get me to change course. My personality is a little off-kilter like this: I spend a good deal of time yielding to other’s opinions, very go-with-the-flow and “whatever you think!”, and then, out of nowhere, I’ll dig in my heels on something inconsequential, and you’ll never change my mind, not in a million years or for a million dollars. Ask my husband how he feels about this. (SPOILER: HE LOVES IT.) (Editor’s note: No he doesn’t.)

I remember having a crystal clear vision for my Halloween costume in fourth grade. I wanted to be an artist: have a tiny mustache, a painter’s palette, a beret. Oh, it would be very inspired! Very meaningful! Very French! Here’s how it turned out: