BUTT-HEAD. That was my costume the last time I went trick or treating. It was 1995, and one of my friends, sporting a homemade blue Metallica shirt, went as Beavis. For hours that night, I walked the streets of an Annapolis, Md., suburb saying, “Uh, huh, huh, like, trick or treat and stuff” to bemused neighbors as we wound our way through a sea of Woodys, Buzz Lightyears, and Carmen Sandiegos.
We were on the receiving end of many rolled eyes and raised eyebrows from the adults on Hampton Road, but we still walked away with pillowcases filled with candy, and I was ready to trade Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups for Almond Joys.
Our rubber masks with eye holes were impossible to align with our actual eyes and the small mouth slits made it hard for our pleas to be heard with clarity. Beneath Butt-Head’s AC/DC T-shirt, I wore a black long-sleeved shirt. Instead of his short-inseam red shorts, I wore jeans. Late October 1995 in central Maryland was chilly! What good is having a pillowcase full of candy if you’re too sick to enjoy it? So, I layered up.
Fast-forward to 2013. I’m living in Baltimore and taking my 2-year-old son trick or treating for the first time. He’s dressed as Superman; his hair is slicked back but with one little curl in the front like Christopher Reeve’s incarnation of the superhero. I’m in jeans and a black t-shirt, looking forward to reaching the neighborhood ice cream shop because it’s warm, and I’m working up a sweat.
Leap ahead to Halloween 2025. My daughter is dressed in a green schoolgirl outfit as Heather Duke, from the off-Broadway musical adaptation of the ’80s film Heathers, as she and her friends make the rounds of our southern Maryland neighborhood. My wife, neighbors, and I gather in our driveway with “Thriller” playing in the background to greet all the KPop Demon Hunters, Elphabas, Glindas, and Super Marios and dole out Snickers and Twix. There wasn’t a single jacket in sight.
Iced apple cider is a travesty.
As a teen, I never considered the possibility of sweating when deciding on a costume, but those with exposed skin were out of the question: no NBA player, lifeguard, Aladdin, or the genie from Aladdin. My apple cider was always served steaming hot in a mug with a cinnamon stick. Iced apple cider is a travesty.
Somewhere between the Butt-Head of 1995 and the Princess Peach of 2025, Halloween stopped requiring sleeves and long pants. (The year 2023 threatened to be a cold one, but Annapolis was largely spared, staying in the 50s while neighboring communities had snow and freezing rain.)
Earlier this year, a key Environmental Protection Agency endangerment finding that carbon dioxide and other greenhouse gases pose a threat to public health was repealed by Lee Zeldin, the current EPA administrator. Officially, we’re supposed to act like it isn’t getting hotter. Halloween has always been about make-believe with a touch of horror, and that particular fantasy is pretty scary.
While we will still have some cool Halloweens in Maryland, I expect them to trend warmer as Earth’s global average surface temperatures show a distinct up-and-to-the-right curve. Zeldin and company will keep wearing their dark wool suits on Pennsylvania Avenue in any weather, and the rest of us in the Mid-Atlantic will stock up on short-sleeved costumes and reminisce about the days when it was almost guaranteed to be comfortable dressed on Halloween as a lumberjack, the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man, a Care Bear, Smokey Bear ... or really, any bear.
Did this article have an impact on you? Tell us how! Whether you’re moved to take action, have a question, or want to share a comment (good or bad), we value your feedback!