The following Halloween costumes for me were rejected this year, and appear in no particular order:
1. Sexy Anne Frank. This was just...wrong, somehow.
2. Posing self perfectly still at the bottom of my building's stairs with blood and bruises and a broken high heeled shoe as "the woman who took a bad fall down the stairs of her apartment building." Even though this has the added benefit of being part of the scaaaaary Halloween decorations of the owner-occupied (owner-decorated) two-flat in which we live, it was rejected completely by my sig. o. as well as the panel of nutrition students against whom I tested it as OVER THE LINE.
3. Valerie Solanis. This was a very strong contender, but I didn't wish to be seen as jumping on the renewed Andy Warhol bandwagon on this, its latest swing through the zeitgeist, no matter how much I myself--unrelated to the current rise in his mass cultural stock but fueled by the recent PBS documentary that is part of the rise--am really re/discovering Andy Warhol just now.
4. Nora Pumpkinhands. A pumpkin blight this year (as well as inherent size restrictions of pumpkins themselves) made finding ten similiarly sized, small pumpkins to fit on my fingers very difficult. Also, this idea was dumb and would prevent the hoisting of Cold Ones at various collegiate parties to which I had initially planned on, ehm, inviting myself.
5. Columbia. Because I never did finish sequining, by hand, that entire damned jacket.
Gorge yerselves on candy, buckos. Happy day.
I liked the Valerie Solanis one. I'm not dressing as Dorothy Parker, if that makes you feel any better. (I'm coming as myself, poorly dressed, alone on Halloween night and sitting in front of a computer.)