The scent of deepest autumn was undeniable this weekend. The bouquets of flowers at James Durr are quickly giving way to tangles of leafy boughs, and I couldn't resist picking up a lush bunch of eucalyptus for my front room. With my nose involuntarily buried in the fragrant leaves the whole way home (crowded subway cars rarely provide such lovely aromatherapy experiences) I couldn't help but relish the change in weather, in scents and in routine that the progression of the seasons induces.
So perhaps fittingly, Paul and I chose this weekend to break our strict "no fun on Halloween" tradition. There was a party that promised to be great fun to attend, so Paul dragged out an outfit he had bought in Dubai recently and I got to work cobbling together a costume using a gold lame leotard leftover from a costume party in graduate school and a pair of track pants as a base.
I figured my best bet was one of those interpretive costumes...the kind where you just wear something odd and let others determine who it is you have dressed up as (the consensus from absolute strangers seemed to be Lady Gaga...sure, might as well). Coming up with my own idea was much too stressful on such short notice! So I swung by the makeup mecca that is MAC to pick up some oversized false eyelashes (and immediately vowed to come back in short order for more browsing and playtime...it is a truly inspiring store) and then braved the Ricky's madhouse in search of a wig.
Presently, it was time to go. Paul looked very imposing in his caftan and head scarf (although he was a tad apprehensive about going out in the get-up for fear of offending someone) and I looked shiny.
Just outside of the party we looked across the way and noticed a man standing in the street wearing Paul's exact same outfit. Paul was a bit miffed..."Is he wearing it better than I am?" he wondered. I looked closer...he was an older man with those 1970s big square glasses with thin wire rims..."Babes I think he's an actual Arab." "Really? Are you sure?". And then he got into a Bentley and drove away. "Yes, I'm sure."
We enjoyed an evening full of sword eaters and fire jugglers and women on stilts with friends and a couple of bottles of champagne. The festivities eventually wound down and we made our way home very slowly on the subway, as cabs were simply a lost cause.
Paul removed his kaftan shortly after we arrived home, but I have to say I was really feeling my wig and eyelashes and couldn't stand to toss them aside quite so soon. I spent a good while taking photos of myself to delay the inevitable return to normalcy.