I’m a little late with this, because sick, but I promised my FB friends that I would tell the tale of my offensive Halloween costume choice, because full disclosure and all that.
But first, let’s have a looky here:
Someone, in their natural mind, decided this was a good idea for a costume. KKK robes and burning crosses. Can you guess the race?
Not only white, but the husband of a Oklahoma mayor and his buddies. What the entire blueberry pancake fuck? Who decides this is a good plan to go outside like this?
Once upon a time, when I was much younger, but still old enough to know better, I decided this was good idea.
Let me explain with two words:
I think I’ve already given away the surprise with this, but for those who haven’t seen this hilarious piece of social commentary by the genius Mel Brooks, a Western town gets a new sheriff, who happens to be black and hilarity ensues. For a movie that says “Nigger” a lot, I love it. It makes me giggle.
Some friends were remedying my lack of Mel Brooks that wasn’t Men in Tights, and we watched this one, and I was inspired by this infamous scene:
I made my Klan robes out of muslin and fabric glue (I was so fucking poor, you have no idea), and slapped on the “Have A Nice Day” with letter stickers. I thought this was gonna be funny; showing that the KKK is “just a joke” because racism is so funny now haha!
Did I mention I was such a Chill Black Girl, then? Holy crap, you guys, it was so bad.
Of course, I showed up at a friends house for our annual Halloween shindig, and the vastly white guests LOVED IT. It was hilarious. There’s pictures. I don’t have any of them. I got dares to walk to the door, or walk to the mailbox with the hood on for cash. The only other Black person at the party at that time refused to have anything to do with me until it came off.
Two other friends from Morehouse (a HBC) were approaching the door, and everyone was like “Put on your hood! Answer the door!” And of course I did.
And to this day, one of those poor gents loves bringing up how hard he and his buddy ran when I opened the door. They got me back by posing for pics of me with the hood, laying down while they pretended to kick my ass. Pics I also don’t have, sadly.
Finally, midnight came around and the poorly put together (the stickers were falling off) outfit was finally off. I could hug my offended friend, and mingle while not sweating to death (seriously, actual KKK members, how do you stand being in that fucking robe near a fire? I was in a house full of people and was swimming in my own sweat).
And to this day, it’s the one costume everyone remembers.
I’m not even sure what the reaction would have been if we had a larger social media presence, and one of these photos got posted everywhere. I can remember my friend’s discomfort more than the costume and I feel a bit of shame when it comes up.
Still not as awful as the recent slew of fucked up costumes white people came up with this years (again, I keep forgetting to save photos to show here, I suck at blogging), but awful.
Hit it, Miss Kahn: