How to Craft a DIY Halloween Costume

And briefly imperil your relationship

Step 1: Brainstorm ideas.

In this scenario, you are me: a person who grew up with a crafty mom who always made her kids’ costumes.

This gave you unrealistic ideas about what you, yourself can accomplish as an adult since your mom had (a) skills and (b) a sewing machine. You have neither. You don’t even have a glue-gun, which is what normally carries the un-crafty queens through on RuPaul’s Drag Race.

Fear not!

Here’s what you DO have going for you:

• A militant commitment to the idea that no one should spend more than $8 on a costume

• A potent combination of stubbornness and resourcefulness

• An old Harper-Collins box from your bookstore job 10 years ago that’s filled with random craft- and office-supplies

• Several re-useable bags’ worth of clothes you meant to donate, but never got around to during the appropriate season, so now they’re taking up space in the corner

• 4 kinds of tape

• DREAMS, BABY!

Any of this can be used for inspiration, but I recommend starting with the Harper-Collins box.

Step 2: Share your ideas with your partner.

He’s going to the same Halloween party as you, so this should be fun, right?

Should be. Except he has no sewing skills, does not share your “never spend more than $8” edict, and is adamant that it “only makes sense if we’re in a couples costume”.

Re-focus your brainstorming to accommodate the new couples mandate.

Spend way too much time Googling versions of the phrase “couples costumes that are both cool, not one good, other lame”.

Find little in the way of satisfying search results.

Step 3: Spin out.

You don’t have time for this! You need to pick something and get to craftin’!

You’re against couples’ costumes because for hetero couples, they’re invariably imbalanced: the woman typically buys everything AND ends up with a costume that looks like a selfish choice because it’s flattering and main character-y while the male costume looks like her accessory. The Ken to her Barbie, if you will.

You don’t want to look like a domineering girlfriend! You don’t want to do his shopping/crafting and your own! You don’t want to spend more than $8!

Now go wide with it — really lose the plot. Why is it so important to dress like a couple on Halloween, anyway? HMMM? We’ve been together 15 years AND WE’RE STILL NOT MARRIED!

Attagirl. Stomp the gas pedal on your spiraling. After all, what is spooky season for if not scaring the bejesus out of nice people who love you?

Step 4: Cool off and suggest maybe you can both be bats.

Bats seem easy. Everybody likes bats. You can cut up umbrellas for the wings.

Step 5: Remember you can do better than bats!

And it probably wouldn’t hurt to do some damage control after your zero to 60 freakout before.

Revisit his (admittedly very good) idea: he’ll spend $30 on Amazon to be Nedry from Jurassic Park and you can spend $8 or less putting together a matching dilophosaurus costume for yourself.

Step 6: Begin the fabrication stage.

While you dig through your shit, trying to find something with a whiff of dinosaur to it, keep in mind that you are now embarking on a solo crafting journey.

Your partner clicked three links on Amazon and paid his money. You are pulling the bags out of family-sized Chex boxes so you can use the cardboard to make your dinosaur face flaps. You’ve chosen different paths.

Yours is a personal vision now that will look pretty dumb until it doesn’t, so DO NOT seek your partner’s validation.

DO put down an old shower curtain as a drop cloth on your kitchen table before you start painting cereal boxes and cutting up sunhats.

Step 7: Paint cereal boxes and cut up sunhats.

This (and all crafting) is the fun part and an excellent time to ignore your responsibilities and binge-watch Gilmore Girls on your laptop, which should be perched somewhere it won’t get paint-y.

Step 8: Assemble your dinosaur head.

Remembering you can’t sew, dig through that Harper-Collins box for the thing of safety pins you know you have. Use those to attach the hat components together.

Step 9: Add teeth.

The no-sew move here is white duct tape, which you already own. Eat your heart out, Martha Stewart.

Step 10: Do a sanity check with trusted friends.

You’re a little too close to this. You’ve knocked down 10 eps of Gilmore Girls and breathed a lot of paint fumes. Send some friends a video of you in this dinosaur head contraption to test the waters. They’ll be nice and tell you it’s working.

Step 11: Gloat to your partner, who cautiously suggested this “might be hard to make”.

While you are wearing this ridiculous getup, crowing about being a crafting genius, saying Julie Taymor better watch her back, etc., someone you respect will call you about a job interview and you’ll have to tear it off to answer and sound professional.

Step 12: Realize you’ve done nothing about the body.

Time to dig in that bag of clothes you forgot to donate for anything green, brown, whatever. You’ve hit your crafting limit. But guess what? At $0, you’re under budget.

Happy haunting, cowards!

Love,

Dilophosaurus