Ronan (Basil’s father) asked me to help him brainstorm a Halloween costume, and the conversation that ensued nearly destroyed my soul. One by one, he rejected my august suggestions:

“I’d only do things that don’t obstruct my looks…. I’m okay with being an archetype… If I could find a pair of angel wings to throw on that didn’t look too gay, I’d do that too… Is eyeliner enough to be a zombie?”

My heart, my heart! Every year, I celebrate Halloween until I’m half blind – so to throw on cat ears or vampire teeth and call it a day is… akin to pairing an Angelic Pretty blouse with jeans. Speak to me of existential horrors, not gimmicks monsters!

The Fashion Ramone understands. Party name? “Horror Vacui.” Dress code? “To expose the suicidal monster We have created inside.” At Tokyu Hands, I bought a meter of fishnet, laundry clips, and metal nails. At Loft, I picked up a stuffed duck. On October 31st, I “filled the long emptiness and doleful totality with impressions of the sinister mortal coil.”

The venue: Trump Room in Shibuya. Rococo, Baroque, gold foil, leopard print, deer heads, walls of mirrors, and black balloons all over the floor.

The scene: yarimanchin and ninja DJs.

This girl imitated a Japanese comedienne down to the mole and flouncy poses.

The music: a jilting mix. Some good (minimal electronik, Italo disco, electro), some bad (to accompany the “tumult of vengeance, humiliation, and redemption,” perhaps? )

Without fail, drunk Japanese businessmen will approach and insist on taking photos, V-fingers raised.

Le sigh. What did you do for Halloween, and how did you dress? It’s not over for me… I still have Tokyo Dark Castle and Club Cemetery on my agenda this weekend!