The horror... the horror...
There's still time to re-think toxic and tasteless Halloween decor
I am harnessing both my irrational and quite-reasonable fears of two looming nail-biter elections — one provincial within days and that bigger scary one with the global impact — and funnelling them into Halloween. And why not? It’s the most craftiest time of the year with all the sparkle and none of the ho-ho-horrible Christmas-y treacle, that one night a year when you can lure tots to your home with candy without being branded a sicko.
True, Halloween’s not until the end of the month but who knows what kind of collective anxiety will be gripping us by then, what with the Divided States of America election just days after?
Instead, I am focusing in, drawing on my craftivist background to encourage some acts of resistance — at least when it comes to Halloween decor.
This is the time to resist that 12-foot-tall glowing Grim Reaper in Home Depot’s seasonal section. Just walk on by. Or allowing that pointy finger to drop on the ‘Place my order’ button for other petroleum-derived, environmentally-hazardous novelty crap for home delivery, made under who-knows-what kind of labour conditions. Because how can you be sure it wasn’t made in another one of those prison-factories, like that Oregon woman discovered when she opened her fake-tombstones kit to find a hand-written plea for help from a forced-labourer in China?
Also on the resist list: fake spiderwebs. The sight of dead, dangling hummingbirds, bats and moths caught up in fake spiderwebs is the kind of horror you don’t want in your display. I know; the description from the Amazon seller is enticing: “The white spider web looks like a real spider web, making your indoors and outdoors look even more creepy.” (More creepy than usual?) But is it worth all the dead fauna?
And yes, the Amazon ad’s “office” option (as shown below) could inspire a fun prank on that useless middle manager at your workplace but is it worth all the effort? These are important considerations.
Craft tip: You want fake spider webs? Just rip the hell out of some dollar-store cotton cheesecloth. You can fold it all up after and use it next year.
My bias for homemade over purchased is clear but some minimum standards in skill and creativity are required. Just searching upcycle and halloween will take the googler to some sad and creepy places. For example, daubing black dots on Keurig-type capsules is not a spooky craft. I smelled a rat so I scanned the text: “Don’t feel guilty about enjoying those extra cups of coffee in the morning!” reads this Michigan-based retailer’s blog post. A-ha! Obviously this is all part of the Kuerig Industrial Complex. No, zero-effort-craft searcher; you really SHOULD feel guilty for getting sucked into that single-serving plastic Keurig coffee pod routine. (Fun fact: Keurig Canada paid a $3 million penalty in 2022 for misleading coffee pod recycling claims.)
Also, the instructions on the blog require painting the pods with white acrylic paint or spray paint and black acrylic painted dots when clearly you could just take a Sharpie to mini yogurt containers that everyone uses once and throws away. One-star rating from this Halloween crafter!
And while I appreciate the effort of re-using what’s on hand, such as cannabis stalks served up on Reddit at r/GrowingMarijuana, I fail to make out what these things are. My best guess is some homegrown-fuelled visions from a past life in rural Slovenia.
This brings me to another minimum standard: taste. I find no spooky fun in fashioning homemade body bags and slumping them against a front door, so close to the COVID-19 pandemic lockdown when morgues were overflowing, and in the midst of a toxic-drug epidemic. I don’t want to be a Debbie Downer here, but even Halloween crafters need to read the room. (Although I appreciated the dedication to the step-by-step images and instructions. Solid one star!)
Maybe that’s me just growing soft with age, but it’s more likely to do with the reality of my neighbourhood. That first Halloween here five years ago we decked out the front door with dangling skeletons, fog machine, black lights, giant (homemade) spider creeping up the wall. On the big night the speaker blasted a Spotify Spooky Scary Skeletons playlist and when we got sick of that, Tom Waits at a too-high volume. Most of the encounters with the 45 million kids in from god-knows-where were completely transactional: knock, shout trick or treat in unison, present open bag, inspect measly sucker offering, sneer and race to the next door. But there were other kids, often without costumes, whose knocks were barely audible and who stood silent and frozen, staring up at me, mouths slack. Clearly my understanding of their faraway life experiences was as foggy as our front porch.
When we know better we do better so the following Hallowed Eve I ditched any obvious triggers except the giant homemade spider; I set that up every year to torment an arachnophobic friend. I omitted the wails and Waits. I learned to never ask kids why they don’t have a costume or demand they say the customary words to get a candy. I’m just glad their dads and uncles, moms and aunts are all here, braving this bit of strange so their kids can be kids. Now I greet them with a smile, wave at the adults looking on and hope they all remember that although the treats may suck (they’re literally suckers — hundreds of suckers) this household is a safe place, all year round.
But there’s nothing wrong with macabre crafts; last year my studio became a horror show of upcycled useless things: