When I was 10 years old, one of my most distinct Halloween memories was seeing 7 girls wearing the exact same Candy Corn Witch costume, and feeling absolutely mortified for them.

All I could remember feeling in that moment was how embarrassing it must have felt to be so confident in a costume that you thought was so quirky and original, and then coming to school and seeing everyone look just like you. From that Halloween on, I've made it my mission to come up with the most obscure and bizarre costumes out of all my friends.

The next year in 6th grade, having been heavily inspired by the low budget parody film (if you can even call it that) Vampires Suck, I decided to dress up as an Edward Cullen super fan (even though I was and always will be Team Jacob. Don't like it? Suck it.) I made an iron-on T-shirt with poor, old Robert Patterson’s moody face stretched across it, a short black tutu, fish net tights, and a label that said “bite me” with vampire teeth puncture marks scribbled on my neck. I thought it was such a clever idea, but when I wore my costume to school, everyone around me wore nerd costumes (which was basically a button-up plaid shirt and those stupid 3-D glasses with the lenses popped out) or a cat. People thought that what I wore was stupid, but I knew that the next year, come hell or high water, I would step up my Halloween costume game once more. (I unfortunately don't have a photo of this costume since I didn't allow my mom to take any photos of me my 6th grade year, but you can probably imagine how awful it was just by letting you know I wore in in 6th grade.)

I didn't fail on my promise, and the next year I came up with an amazing idea to be “white trash” (which I totally stole from the Internet.) I got a Coors Light hat, a trash bag with the holes on the sides and top for my head and arms, and tons of trash taped all over it. I thought it was the most hilarious and edgy thing I had ever done, but when I got to school, I got the same reaction as the year before: no one got the joke.

Well, almost everyone.

A few of my friends understood it and thought it was the funniest thing they had ever seen. They started explaining it to all their friends, and for the rest of the year I got known as “white trash”. Yes, people actually called me white trash. The only problem was no one bothered learning my name, and so I walked around the halls while people yelled “white trash” at me for the next two years. This, of course, led to my parents becoming concerned with my reputation and possible bullying at school, but I was a pretty oblivious 12 year old, and any kind of harassment toward me would have been completely overlooked by my weirdly confident, pre-pubescent self.

7th grade ain't a cute year for anyone, honey. I am NO exception.

That year, I realized that a weird costume had the ability to evoke stronger emotions than a regular, store bought one would. Sure, it's weird and made people think I was a freak, but who cares? Nobody forgot what I wore, and people realized that I didn't care what people thought of me because I knew that I was just a stupid class clown looking for a couple laughs, and that's what made the difference.

My 8th grade year (aka my year of infamy), I was again taken aback by a cinematic masterpiece; this one, however, went by the name Sharknado, and from the moment my naïve 13-year-old eyes witnessed it, I knew that's what I wanted to be that year for Halloween.

The story of its conception is not a simple one. I first had to watch a million tutorials and gather supplies, but when I first put the outfit on, it felt like the first time Frankenstein laid eyes on his creation. My eyes were filled with horror, amazement, and ignorance of not realizing how powerful my creation truly was. I took a tomato cage, cut up the back so I could wear it, wrapped it in cellophane, spider-webbed it (to make it look like clouds), shaded it with grey spray paint, added flashing lights (that also made the sound of thunder, which was awesome), rubber sharks from Toys-R-Us and Shark Reef, and viola! My masterpiece was complete! I had never felt so proud of any costume I had ever worn in my life, but I knew before I even made it that no one would know what I was.

On Halloween, I wore it to school, and, like I expected, no one knew what I was. Those who didn't know were horrified, some were interested, and the ones who did know thought it was the best thing they had ever seen. The costume was so big, I couldn't even sit in a desk without taking it off! People asked for photos and gave glares, but it was received positively overall. I remember beaming the entire day. Even when people said it was stupid, I didn't care. I was so proud of what I made and the impact I had on people. Till this day, people still ask me every year around Halloween to wear it again, but unfortunately, it has retired itself to my garage, never to be seen (or worn) again.

What's good, pizza face?

The past two years have been pretty uneventful. My freshman year, after having my Fifty Shades of Grey idea shot down by my dad, I decided to be Rosy the Riveter. People didn't even know I was wearing a costume because of how plain it was, and I felt like I had let down the “fans” of my previous costume. The year after was even more uneventful when I wore my dad’s camo uniform from Vietnam.

Freshman year was rough alright? Sheesh!)

Could have been worse, but also could have been better.

This year, I plan to turn things around by being Eleven from Stranger Things, a mostly unknown and non-mainstream show. Will this costume just be step one on my journey of costume redemption? Only time will tell… but let me just say from my experience that weird costumes are always better, and if you're thinking of dressing up as a character from a weird movie or as a pun, do it. The world of girls wearing lingerie and kitten ears and guys with zombie makeup and just regular clothes will thank you.