I don’t understand why it’s not acceptable for me to wear my slutty Freddy Fazbear outfit to class. 

I’ve been planning this costume for months, spending hours in the Barnard Design Center, laboring over my plans and models. I’ve breathed in too many spray paint fumes, touched so much styrofoam and fabric that I’ve forgotten the feeling of pure human touch. I’ve had nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat. I worked all throughout Halloweekend, putting the finishing touches on my costume—a slutty Freddy Fazbear. Modeled after the original character from the first Five Nights at Freddy’s game, of course. 

My friends all tried to get me to come to the Halloweekend parties. Sig Ep, Z, ADP—a three day bender. I don’t have a costume, I told them. They told me it was fine, that they were planning on wearing group costumes with items they had in their closet. Those sheep. Who did they think I was, wearing a costume made out of items I already owned? And it’s not like I was going to stoop to the level of buying something from Amazon or Party City, either. I was going to do it my way—the FNaF way. 

So I stayed at the Design Center all weekend, putting the finishing touches on my costume. I added eyeshadow to the working eyeballs, bedazzled the top hat, pierced Freddy’s ears, and glued acrylics to his claws. On Monday evening, I nervously took the costume parts back to Plimpton, laying them out on my bed in sheer pride. It was one day before Halloween, and my costume was finally done. 

Now, this wasn’t just any Freddy Fazbear costume. It was a slutty Freddy Fazbear costume. Cunty, you may say. The arms, legs, paws, and head were all designed to resemble the animatronic. My torso, however, was a different story. I would don a black tight-fitting vest, allowing just a bit of my hot pink bralette to peek out. Nails, high heels, and belt would match—all pink. On the bottom, I would wear not a mini skirt, but a micro skirt. Just as Freddy would’ve wanted. Sensual. Lastly, I would expose my belly button ring and wear sparkly fishnet stockings to match the bedazzled hat. 

Tuesday, October 31. I woke up with a new light in my eyes—the day had come. I imagined the reactions I would get from my classmates, the cheers and compliments that would shower me throughout the day. This would be the best costume anyone would wear. And the relevancy, too! Not only was I already a FNaF fan through and through, but the movie had just come out the week before. I could even wear this costume for my third Five Nights at Freddy’s viewing this Friday! 

As I put on my outfit, I felt I had become a new woman, shedding the layers of insecurities having been ingrained in me since birth. Society could no longer hold me down. I shed a tear for my womanhood, for the little girl inside me who first took flight the moment she beat the fifth night. That little girl had become me, yours truly. As I walked across 120th St., I struggled to choke back sobs.

I entered my seventy-person linear algebra class full of exhausted joy. But nobody complimented me. The girl I usually sit next to asked me what I was, only for her to merely nod when I told her. I kept hearing people talking about furries. They didn’t think I was one, did they? How did nobody understand my costume? I thought this school was full of geeks, but maybe the people in my class were too mathy even for that. Not to mention that only two other people in the class dressed up. Where were people’s spirits? What happened to the Halloween passion I had heard of this weekend? I held my head high, hoping my next class would be a bit more comforting. 

Next, I went to my literature seminar. This class was smaller, but my peers here were more cultured. Surely they would not only understand my outfit, but praise me for my ingenuity. But they didn’t. Nobody talked to me before class. The professor, however, wouldn’t stop staring at me, her sentences trailing off each time we locked eyes. After class, she stopped me at the door. This is it, I thought. She’ll finally tell me how great my costume is! But that’s not what happened. She told me my “outfit” was “a bit too much” for class, and that my skirt was so short she could see my underwear. But that’s literally the point. I’m not Freddy Fazbear, I’m cunty Freddy Fazbear! I would never dress like this normally. 

Upon arriving at my third class of the day, I heard a group of people discussing Five Nights at Freddy’s. So they knew! Finally! But as I walked up to them to chat, they all ignored me. Laughter emanated from their circle. I don’t understand what happened. What could I have done wrong? It’s Halloween. People are supposed to not only dress up for Halloween, but to be both hot and creative. I’ll bet everyone here did that during the weekend. Why not the day of? Did they forget October had 31 days? 

I ran back to Plimpton, not even trying to stifle tears. Nobody at this school deserves to be here. They’re too dumb to understand that Halloween, October 31, means dressing up, not October fucking 28. It’s okay, though, because maybe they were secretly obsessed with my costume, and just too afraid to tell me so, right? That’s probably it, I think. Maybe word got around that I was dressing up, so people were too afraid to dress up themselves. I just hope that’s the case. At least people at the movie theater will understand. 

Slutty Freddy Fazbear via Author’s Roommate