Waste: The skeleton in Halloween’s closet

Digital illustration of random halloween costume elements

Over the course of my time in higher education, I’ve unintentionally created a routine for Halloween preparations. The steps are as follows: realize I don’t have a costume, scour the internet for last-minute costume inspiration and then run to the thrift store or throw everything out of my closet before haphazardly constructing a halfway decent costume. 

The other night, the routine kicked into action once again. Collapsed on my bed, I scrolled through Pinterest desperately searching for inspiration. After scratching Elaine Benes, Charlotte York and Rory Gilmore from the list, I finally decided to throw on a white turtleneck, paint the tip of my nose black and grab some black sunglasses for a rough interpretation of the cartoon character Snoopy. 

While I got ready, “Hocus Pocus” played on my laptop, my speakers projecting Max’s claim that Halloween was a ploy invented by the candy companies to sell more candy. As a kid, I couldn’t have cared less whether the candy companies were conspiring or not. Hearing the sentiment again now, with black eyeliner on my nose, I find myself aligned much closer to Max on the Halloween skepticism scale. 

Not only candy, but the holiday’s decorations, costumes and themed Trader Joe’s foods are produced in excess each year. In the year 2024, Halloween can’t be divorced from our collective awareness of the crisis of overconsumption. As I empty my own closet onto the floor, the skeleton unacknowledged in the back of Halloween’s closet is the waste shipped away to landfills each Nov. 1. 

Despite my current Scrooge-ness, growing up, Halloween was by far my favorite holiday. Each year, I looked forward to crafting my costume in front of the TV during ABC Family’s Halloween movie marathon. Sitting on the carpet in the living room, I stapled a deck of cards together for a Queen of Hearts costume while Max lit the candle in “Hocus Pocus.” Leading up to the holiday, haunted hayrides, apple cider and carving pumpkins were indispensable parts of my family’s holiday traditions. 

But now, as an adult, the fuzzy nostalgia that once hung over my memories of running through the aisles of Spirit Halloween has faded away to some degree. Walking down the festive aisles of plastic skeletons, pumpkins and candy bowls instead remind me that their nonbiodegradable composition will extend their lifetime. The polyvinyl chloride will haunt the earth long after its presence is wanted. While I used to delight in watching my neighbors put their decorations up, now I wonder how much energy it takes to keep them running or where they’ll go when they’re no longer needed. 

Of course, it’s not fair to blame Halloween for ills like overconsumption and excess plastic, which plague virtually every aspect of modern life, including every other holiday. Plastic decorations, food waste and fast fashion are not unique to Halloween. Yet, I still can’t enjoy the holiday quite the same way I used to knowing what I know now. 

Growing up in Michigan, my Halloweens were always bitterly cold. On more than one occasion, I ran around with my pillowcase full of candy in one hand and an umbrella to shield against the freezing rain in the other. The brisk winds meant you couldn’t care about your outerwear obstructing your costume, unless you wanted to come out of the holiday with blue fingers and toes. This year in my hometown, it will be 70 degrees on Halloween. 

While some out-of-staters may appreciate the milder Michigan winters of the past few years, the record-breaking highs are not a friend to the delicate ecosystems of our state. The effects are far-reaching as temperatures create ripple effects that harm the natural balance protecting our agriculture and wildlife. 

Although the massive industry which creates and distributes the costumes, candy and decor for Halloween each year is not solely or directly responsible for climate change, the effects of this large-scale production are undeniable. 

Much of the makings of modern Halloween festivities are far from eco-friendly. Each year, the typical trimmings of Halloween have the potential to make a significant dent in our national overconsumption problem. The excess of empty candy wrappers, trick-or-treating buckets and organic pumpkins in landfills pose a risk to the earth’s wellbeing as methane fumes produced by mounting waste contribute to the rising temperatures both globally and locally. 

For college students, the primary item on the holiday shopping list is a costume. Unfortunately, the vast majority of retail Halloween costumes are made with oil-based fabrics like acrylic and nylon. In fact, 80% of Halloween costumes are made with polyester. Much like other nonbiodegradable materials on display during Halloween, these garments will take decades if not hundreds of years to break down after their disposal. More frightening is the ethical dilemma posed by the manufacturing of these garments. Given that even mass-produced costumes like the ones displayed along the walls at Party City must be made in part by hand before reaching the store, the very production of the costumes feeds a fast fashion industry that notoriously exploits their employees, leaving garment workers underpaid and forced to operate under dangerous working conditions. 

Since the year 2000, fast fashion production has nearly doubled in scale; A significant portion of Halloween costumes are produced overseas, specifically in nations like China where 7.7% of underage children are working illegally. Many people acknowledge that the industry is unethical, and while most consumers don’t want to forgo their morals, the industry can make it seem as if there is no other option in the market for affordable Halloween costumes. While the accessibility of thrifting has increased in recent years as companies like ThredUp and Depop allow consumers to buy second-hand from the convenience of their own home, these platforms still offer much more limited choices and can’t compete with next-day shipping. 

So, I feel conflicted each time October rolls around. I still love Halloween as much as I did when I was a kid, even if it’s more complicated than it once was. As a lover of costumes and curating spooky playlists, there’s a lot to look forward to. At the same time, Halloween on a college campus is an entirely different beast than the ones I spent running from house to house. Rather than occupying just Oct. 31, Halloween annually encroaches upon the entire weekend surrounding it, and sometimes, like this year, claims both weekends bookending the holiday. And since the holiday no longer exists on a solitary calendar date, you also can’t get by with just one costume. Depending on how much you abide by social pressures, multiple costumes are often necessary to keep up with the status quo. 

In line with my inner child, I always plan to come up with a creative and unique costume. But due to a combined lack of time management and an unwillingness to buy something new, I typically end up pulling something out of my closet and loosely reverse engineering an existing costume to fit the garment. 

Last year, I walked to Salvation Army to find something to wear only a couple of hours before getting together with my friends. The store was packed with other like-minded students and the racks were fairly picked over. After browsing row after row of clothing and coming up short, I finally found a Fran Fine-esque turtleneck and hit the checkout counter. The year before that, I threw on my baking apron and picked up a pack of Starbursts as an homage to Claire Saffitz’s time in the Bon Appétit Test Kitchen. My most expensive costume by far was when I broke my wrist and took advantage of the fact to recreate Saoirse Ronan’s look in “Lady Bird.” 

My costume choices are, to my own disappointment, decidedly less exciting than what the holiday would traditionally call for. Depending on your own wardrobe choices, a closet-costume can often be mistaken as someone simply not wearing a costume. So while I’m able to forgo purchasing into the Halloween industrial complex, whether or not I’m actually participating in the Halloween spirit is subjective. And even while I’m not purchasing fast fashion, by joining in on the raids of the local thrift stores, I’m inevitably taking away stock from those who rely on thrift stores for their clothes.

The influx of Halloween shoppers to thrift stores is not only anecdotal. According to a survey conducted by Goodwill in 2018, among those who craft their own costumes, 52% of respondents turn to thrift stores for materials — a statistic which I find hopeful. A testament to the growing conscientiousness surrounding the issue of fast fashion, many of us already try to limit purchasing new. 

On the other hand, intrinsic to Halloween’s supernatural nature, many costumes are made up of items which would be a rare find in the aisles of a Salvation Army. It’s possible that Halloween and its waste are inextricable from each other. The female Patrick Batemans and Mia Thermopolis — both creative, fun costumes in line with the spirit of the holiday — usually require items not found in anyone’s day-to-day wardrobe. And outside of the college campus bubble, candy, decor and pumpkins are all features of the holiday which are fundamental to Halloween despite the waste they create.

As much as I’d like to pretend that my choices in Halloween costuming are purely eco-conscious, that’s not entirely the case. More likely it’s a result of the combined efforts of my inability to plan ahead as well as my refusal to spend money on something I know I’ll only wear once. Even so, I’m hopeful knowing that many of our peers are taking the steps to mitigate the waste the holiday creates, whether or not their reasons are ecological, economical or personal. 

It may be that waste is intrinsic to Halloween — a fact I’ll have to continue to reckon with as the years go on. However, reducing that waste is not hopeless. Exposing the skeleton is the first step. Now as a generation we all need to find a way to throw the skeleton out with the rest of the trash. 

Statement Correspondent Juliana Tanner can be reached at jntanner@umich.edu.

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