Through my early thirties, I would get really into Halloween. I’ve been a vampire, a zombie, a mummy, Mr. Spock, a Hooters waitress and, yes, a bloodied Drew Barrymore from Scream (complete with a cordless phone in one hand, Jiffy Pop in the other, and a knife in my chest). I even once had a pair of black contact lenses that just covered the iris, which were wonderfully and eerily off-putting at parties. When I went out, I went all out, as one should when you want to do it right.

As I ease into my mid-forties, I’ve toned it down considerably. Since Halloween and its ghostly, ghoulish splendor remains one of my favorite holidays on the American calendar, I still enjoy a little sartorial flourish to celebrate All Hallows’ Eve.