It’s never too late. Do the thing.

How the Halloween costume that haunted me for 10 years reignited my creativity

One of the first pictures of the night. Photo Credit: My Dad

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Your life is full of chances to say yes or no. Sometimes the yes or no is direct,  and sometimes it’s by default. You need to be on guard against the default variety — the decisions you make not with intention, but by omission or avoidance or through pure apathy. They are tricky little bastards that will rob you of amazing experiences if you let them. Don’t you let them. 

I am not unfamiliar with the default no, and I’d like to tell you a little story about one particular “no” that I finally — about this time last year — turned into a very intentional (if slightly chaotic) “yes.”

About ten years ago, I came across a video of a homemade Halloween costume called a “stilt walker.” It was four-legged cryptid of indeterminate heritage — a tall, shrouded, slightly spidery beast with a humanoid face. I was fascinated. 

Let me be clear: I am not a horror fan, but I do love creatures. As a child of the 80s, I have fond memories of more than my share of puppet creations. From Sesame Street and The Muppet Show to Labyrinth, The Dark Crystal, and The Neverending Story, my childhood was filled with all manner of puppets — not CGI effects, but practical characters built of foam and cloth and fur and sometimes animatronic bits. 

My relationship with puppets is … complicated. While my sister and I put on plenty of our own shows (starring Muppet-like people that my mom made), I also had regular nightmares about evil marionettes (probably inspired by the flamenco-dancer marionette — a gift from my aunt — which hung menacingly at the foot of my bed, swaying suspiciously in the slightest breeze).

I’ve also never been a fan of the mascot-type puppets that tend to roam around theme parks. I did, at age nine, muster enough courage to get my picture taken with Chip and Dale at Disney World. But little-kid me also nearly lost her mind whenever she encountered Mr. Peanut — a human-sized peanut with top hat and cane who was, for some unknown reason, wandering around Salem, MA promoting Planter’s Peanuts. Don’t ask. It was a different time.

But I digress. 

I knew the moment I saw one, that I wanted to build my own stilt walker. I’d never seen anything like it, and I’d definitely never had a Halloween costume that cool. But those pesky little default no’s kept getting in the way. I was always too busy or too late or wasn’t sure how to start or felt it would be irresponsible to spend the money or any number of other perfectly legitimate and logical reasons to say no.

So, time passed. Years passed. Ten fucking years. 

But the idea kept nagging at me. 

And, finally, last year, something snapped and I decided to just do the damn thing. 

I did a little research and found that the creator of the original stilt walker (there have been many adaptations since that first one) sells a tutorial on Etsy for $10. Click. Then I hopped over to Amazon for drywall stilts (which I’d learned were more stable than traditional stilts, and easier for beginners like me), and a pair of ergonomic crutches. Click. I drove a few towns over to the nearest Joann Fabrics where I picked out yards and yards of specialty costume fabrics and a selection of marked-down Halloween decorations. I tried to describe my project to the ladies who cut fabric off the bolts and rang up my order. They were confused, but very enthusiastic. 

I had done the hardest part. I had said yes. And once I’d made the decision, I made a commitment. I plunked down my hard-earned cash, and — just as important — made myself accountable by telling my family what I was up to. It was go time. 

To begin, my beau fabricated extensions for the crutches, and supervised my trial runs on the stilts. I realized right away that I would not be joining Cirque du Soleil anytime soon, but I could manage a slow shuffle, and that was enough.

On October, 28^th —  only a few days before the big night — I dragged all my supplies (which now included sheets of upholstery foam, more fabric, silk flowers, LED lights, and bells and a bamboo wind chime for sound effects) into my tiny living room. I tuned Spotify to my beloved BBC full-cast production of the Lord of the Rings (circa 1981), and got to work. 

I felt like a kid again. I was a kid again. I had only the foggiest idea of what I was doing, but I had no intention of letting that slow me down. I just dove in and started doing. I was playing. 

Bit by bit, step by step, the creature began to take shape. And then my reinforcements arrived. My engineering-minded beau handled additional construction efforts like shaping the body and wrapping the stilts to make them look like legs. My mom took up a needle to stitch fussy fringe fabric onto the legs of a pair of sweatpants, and then helped me safety pin fabric “skin” onto our beast’s armature (along with artfully placed silk flowers). My dad, the artist, sculpted the back feet (including toes!) out of a heavier foam. 

The house looked like a twisted version of Santa’s workshop with half-finished body parts everywhere. It was glorious.

We all came together again on Halloween night. I climbed up onto the stilts, and my beau fitted the rest of the costume — fastening and securing everything just so. The rest of the night was a blur, in part because it was such a fun, slightly giddy experience to bring our monster out to meet everyone, and in part because — as we discovered later — being inside the costume for so long had given me a mild case of carbon dioxide poisoning. Oops. 

ANYway … minor medical emergency aside, the night was a huge success. And, more than that, I learned something really important: 

It’s never too late to do the thing. You should always listen to the little voice inside you when it refuses to let something go. Pay attention, and say yes. Don’t worry about the how or the why. Just take the first step. Leap if you have to. Be a little irresponsible. Be a little irrepressible. There is great power in doing. And once you get started, who knows where you might go! 

Getting that first project under my belt has given me the confidence (and creativity boost) to tackle several other endeavors that have been on my want-to-do list for a long time, including launching this newsletter. So — you just never know. 

P.S. The legacy of that first costume lives on. This year’s costume — an entirely new design — is currently under construction. It will be another very large puppet, but this time my feet will stay firmly on the ground … and we’ll make sure there’s enough ventilation to keep me from accidentally knocking myself out. 

Is there something you’ve always wanted to do, but haven’t?  What’s stopping you? No, seriously, what’s stopping you?

Also, I’d love, love, LOVE to hear about your Halloween costumes, past and present. 

One of the first steps - cutting the front legs out of upholstery foam.

One front leg done. One to go!

Initial stages of a madwoman’s creature workshop

Mom and Dad join the fray

Details … details

Starting to come together

My other half working on … my other half

Almost ready to hit the streets!

And … a few hours later (Photo Credit: Dad)

All’s well that ends well. (Photo Credit: Dad)