Ten Halloweens ago, caught up in the excitement of new parenthood, I happily tackled the job of making my infant daughter’s first costume. Wanting it to be warm, I chose a white two-piece hooded sweat suit. To the hood, I sewed two small, pointed ears. I trimmed the belly, sleeves, and cuffs with synthetic black fur, and to the rear, attached a long white tail tipped in black.

On Halloween night, I dressed Celeste in her costume, painted whiskers on her cheeks and a pink circle on the tip of her nose, and believed her to be the most adorable little cat on the face of the earth.  

And my neighbors sort of agreed. Except several thought she was the most adorable mouse, a few called her the cutest little bunny, some called her a pup, and one misguided (and perhaps nearsighted) old soul looked at her and moo-ed.  

The following year, a friend loaned me her daughter’s Hershey Kiss costume. Dressed in the shiny silver triangular outfit, complete with paper “KISS” flag sticking out the top, I believed Celeste was unmistakable.

“What an adorable little alien!” Neighbors said.  

I suspect misunderstood costumes are as much a part of the Halloween as Jack o’ lanterns. Only those who go with the holiday standards–witches or pirates or ghosts–are likely spared some wrong guesses.  

Each Halloween, a number of newspaper employees choose to wear a costume to the office. Although the level of participation fluctuates greatly from year to year, the effort some put into their costumes is often remarkable. And occasionally, remarkably misunderstood.  

A few years ago, Judi Hazelwood, a longtime employee of the newspaper’s prepress department, decided to dress as Charlie Chaplin. She wore a black derby hat, a suit jacket and baggy pants, and drew on a narrow black mustache.   

“Nobody got it,” Judi said. “One person after another thought I was Hitler. They’d call my department and ask for them to put ‘der Furor’ on the phone.” 

Confused over how anyone could believe she’d dress up as Hitler, Judi went to the bathroom, took off her hat, and looked in the mirror, expecting to see Chaplin. 

And saw Adolph instead. She was horrified.

I’m pretty sure she hasn’t dressed up again since.  

Another friend of mine–an extremely skinny redhead–thought she had the perfect idea for a Halloween costume party. She used a combination of hairspray and sugar water to stiffen her red hair into a pointed peak, then dressed all in tan.  “I felt like I was born to go out dressed as a lit match,” she said. “But not a single person got it. Everyone thought I was a punk rocker.” 

Another friend told of the year she made costumes for her children. For the older one, she spent hours painting a cardboard box so that it looked just like a big box of Sun Maid Raisins, and she thought it would be cute to have her youngest go dressed as a raisin.  

“I had to do a heck of a sales pitch on her,” said Lesley. “She wanted to be a princess, or something normal like that, but I managed to persuade her to put on black leotards and this puffy, wrinkled, black crepe . . . thing. I should’ve just used a black garbage bag, but I thought crepe would look more authentic.  

“I don’t think a single person got it all night. They thought she was everything from the grim reaper to a black ghost to, well, a turd.”  

I can’t help but wonder how that last one was phrased.  

“Look at this one, honey,” I imagine them saying. “Isn’t she just the cutest little turd?” 

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