All Hallows Eve is just around the corner and that little globe in the top right corner of your Facebook dashboard is burning up with costume party invites. Do you have a costume? For the party? Not everyone can go as Miley Cyrus or The Government Shutdown. We have some NYC-centric ideas that have all made the headlines, in descending order of relevancy.
New York's favorite tourist presents you with a plethora of costume options. Is the Blue Man in Central Park Banksy in disguise? Or is it the dude with Transition lenses? Pick your favorite British stereotype and call yourself Banksy. Cut the lights, murder a partygoer in the darkness and scream "BANKSY STRIKES AGAIN!" Complain that the New York Times rejected your op-ed.
If you want to be a smartass, you could just walk around with bags of money or something. Or you could be a Slutty Banksy!
The better costumes would probably come from some of Banksy's actual work during his NYC residency. Screaming stuffed animal truck? Chicken wire cage filled with some stuffed animals and maybe a cardboard truck grill on the front. Concrete Confessional would also be easily executed, as would a Sphinx (or a Reaper). There's a lot of room for interpretation, so long as your interpretation is conducive to endless Instagramming and immediate, bloodthirsty commercialization. Make sure no one at the party is going as another rival graffiti artists.
Interns are always relevant, if not eligible for legal protection against sexual harassment. Just leave the party poorer than you were when you arrived.
Maybe the easiest costume on the list. Punch the first fifteen people you see at the party in the face, lick the sixteenth on the cheek, and then keep punching. Complain how tough New York's dating scene is.
You could take the classic jockey-costume approach, just sub in the blue bike. I'm not sure how you would go about it materially. That's above our pay grade (see costume idea #2 above). Pipe cleaners? Pipe cleaners.
The real crux of any CitiBike costume is the accessories: No helmet, plenty of credit cards, a Camelbak, and a palpable, cloyingly urbane sense of self-satisfaction.
THE GROWING SENSE OF MALAISE THAT ACCOMPANIES THE SHARED KNOWLEDGE OF THE CERTAINTY OF THE OUTCOME OF A MAYORAL ELECTION THAT IS DEEPLY IMPORTANT YET CRIPPLINGLY UNINSPIRING
Complain that the New York Times rejected your op-ed. Ask everyone at the party how the media will view their "legacy."
Business casual, an expensive handbag or fitted baseball cap. Look impatient, suspicious, and send a bunch of text messages.
If you don't want to just go as a Cronut line waiter, maybe wear an apron with flour on it. Dress as a Cro-Magnon and carry around a doughnut or a bag of corn nuts or something. Throw yourself on the floor and kick off your shoes and sit tight until dawn.
THE SODA BAN
The Soda Ban has something for the whole family. You could craft a giant wearable cardboard soda cup or bind together many 2 liter soda bottles for a soda suit. Have a baby? Line a soda bottle with soft things (Soda?) and plop it right down in there. Parents can go as The Bloomberg Nanny State. Take pride in being the primarcy source of the evening's witty social commentary.
THE RAIN ROOM
Everyone's favorite nightmare pop-up would make you the talk of the town. But how can you pull off a room, you ask? Walk around your Halloween party crying and sweating. Bring a bottle of water. Make people wait 10 minutes before they can talk to you and then spray them until they leave. Tell everyone that Klaus Biesenbach will be there in 15 minutes and when he doesn't show up point out how it's funny that Klaus Biesenbach was supposed to come to the party but there was a new Banksy all of a sudden.
Or you could always be a Slutty Rain Room! Be safe out there.
Marc Yearsley and Christopher Robbins really love Halloween.