As you may have gathered from your perusing of the PGP website, many of us see the world through poop-colored glasses. It’s inherent in a postgrad mentality. In order to maintain such a melodramatic and cyclically, well, cynical façade, it’s pertinent to ensure that your Debbie Downer antics extend as far as possible. That means even on holidays. Friends, what holiday is on the very near horizon? One in which we could thrive in the missionary work that is spreading the depressing PGP gospel: Halloween.
Halloween is usually an occasion to let your id reign free in the public eye without repercussions. In fact, it’s one of the rare occasions you may actually be rewarded for wearing extremely short shorts that show off your bulge with a scintillating whiff of your bush, à la “Reno 911.” Wait, never mind, men with those kinds of cujones should always be rewarded for going sky’s out thighs out no matter what the date. Ladies, obviously you know this is carte blanche for wearing boobie tassles with approximately 89 percent fewer judgmental eye rolls than if you were to rock them any other day. Basically, whatever you should dress up as should be something you don’t normally get away with. Like, I dressed up as a ballerina my sophomore year of high school, because if you’ve ever seen my thighs, you’d know that it’s quite literally a physical impossibility for me to be a ballerina. But fuck it, I wanted to wear a tutu.
However, I want to propose a change. In the nature of fully adopting the #PGP lifestyle, we should use this opportunity not to break out from our miserable mold, but rather to embrace it, and embrace it with gusto. It’s time to think outside the box and be completely fucking average. Let’s look into some great postgrad-themed costume ideas to successfully and appropriately underwhelm everyone.
Be advised that this might not be the best idea if you’re heading somewhere with coworkers. Or it might–let’s just let it play out, yeah?
Attire: Crinkled, unwashed khakis, a belt with a brass buckle shiny enough to offend Helen Keller, and a sweater vest sans undershirt of any kind for the gents; a peasant-style top with a minimum of seven colors in it, paired with any type of flared-but-too-short pants for the ladies.
Mentality: Unfoundedly condescending.
I mean, I honestly have dressed up as Ace two separate years. In my opinion, it’s actually a great idea, given that he clearly had some sort of psychotic break (before, during, and/or after each movie takes place). That seems appropriate.
Attire: Combat boots, black pants, and a Hawaiian shirt. #YesAllMenWhoWearHawaiianShirts
Mentality: Finkle is Einhorn, Einhorn is Finkle; FINKLE’S A MAN!
At least it’s an accurate representation of what takes up most of your mental faculties, right?
Attire: Nerdy glasses, dirty jeans, shitty hair, and a textbook. Most importantly, proceed to walk around lighting dollar bills on fire in front of people’s faces so they get the point.
Mentality: Suicide watch.
“Hey, look at how poor I am! My sheet isn’t even white, because my mom knows better than to buy me white sheets–I’ve had these since I learned how to jerk off!”
Attire: Hopefully a clean bed sheet plus two holes if you’re safe, or minus two holes if you’re looking for adventure and perhaps an oncoming vehicle.
Mentality: Defeatist. Think Kristin Wiig in “Bridesmaids.”
Cat Ears (Gender Neutral)
Appropriate when you give so few fucks that you actually prefer to offend people with how uncreative you are.
Attire: Fucking cat ears. Whiskers if you’re trying to get laid.
Mentality: “Please bang me, I’m desperate.”
Your Mom or Dad
Hey, do what you know.
Attire: Whatever your mom or dad wears. I’m not touching that one directly.
Mentality: Mild disappointment in all those who surround you.
Stripper or Gigolo
Because it’s finally time to take the advice, “dress for the job you want, not the job you have,” literally.
Attire: Pasties and a fresh Brazilian; a banana hammock.
Honestly, who gives less fucks than Johnny boy? The only discrepancy arises when people realize that he makes millions of dollars and you make dozens.
Attire: Disgusting yellow golf pants, yellow golf shirt tight enough to show off the beer gut, a tea bag in your pocket, a plastic pint of Rubinoff in your pocket, three packs of Marlboro Reds, and a 40 for good measure.
Mentality: Wistful admiration of the man you’re trying to emulate, but eventual depression when you realize it’s unlikely to come to fruition..