As the temperature dipped into the 40s, hundreds of college students swarmed Harvard Square on Halloween night (or three nights, if you believe in the expanded term “Halloweekend”). It wasn’t long before we saw our third Minion of the night — an overall-wearing partygoer covered in yellow body paint and balancing a pair of goggles on their forehead. We also spotted a herd of Victoria’s Secret Angels, who strutted down a new kind of runway — Mount Auburn St. and Massachusetts Ave. — wearing feathered wings and pink silk robes. By the end of the night, we had observed a menagerie of animals and insects: deer, leopards, werewolves, peacocks, ladybugs, and butterflies.

A few costumes necessitated a double take — an extra moment to piece together the compilation of strange garments and eccentric accessories. Our personal favorites were a recreation of the “John Pork is calling” meme; a corseted Duolingo owl; and the AI brain rot character Tung Tung Tung Sahur. Even after leaving Harvard Square, we continued to encounter creative characters. From a burning Orange Line train to a street cone and her kilt-wearing boyfriend — a nod to Scottish soccer fans placing traffic cones on Boston statues during the 2026 FIFA World Cup — people seemed determined to stand out amid costumes readily found in a pre-packaged bag at Spirit Halloween.

Faced with outfits ranging from the instantly recognizable to the impressively obscure, we began to wonder what exactly makes a good Halloween costume. We set out on our own hunt across campus for the perfect Halloween costume, curious to see how Harvard students were navigating this obsession with originality – and whether all that extra effort was truly worth it.

On Halloween night, Harvard College Dean of Students Thomas G. Dunne shared a photo on Instagram of a student, Myint Aung ’30, dressed as a transcript — poking fun at the College’s newly approved grade cap, which will take effect in fall 2027. “I just wanted to be kind of funny, so I was like, ‘what’s the most relevant costume I can make that Harvard students will find funny?’” Aung later tells us. His costume featured a poster resembling a student transcript hung around his neck, listing some of Harvard’s most popular intro classes and his supposed grades in each — all of which were, of course, A minuses. “I did want to match with some people, so I did ask some friends if they wanted to be Amanda Claybaugh with me, or if they wanted to be the 20 percent plus four,” Aung adds. Aung’s friends did not take him up on the offer.

The classic costumes have had a good run. Of course, there will always be those who opt for nothing more elaborate than cat ears and a black top. Still, it seems to us that Halloween has become a competition for the most obscure costume. And Harvard students are simply taking part in a larger phenomenon that has infiltrated our X, Sidechat, and TikTok feeds.

Upon opening TikTok, we doubted our own ability to compete with far more creative strangers. When our competition is a girl and her friend dressed up as Amelia Earhart and the crab that supposedly ate her (a theory we had never heard before scrolling), it seems we have no shot at coming up with a costume that will out-innovate the rest.

Sometimes, though, trying to be inventive backfires. Many A24 fans (and others simply eager to participate in an internet-wide inside joke) have donned Elizabeth Holmes’ iconic black turtleneck, smudged eyeliner, and patchy red lipstick, while their friend or significant other plays the role of Nathan Fielder, camera in hand, in reference to the new documentary “You Can See Everything.” With everyone vying for the most original cultural reference, we end up with a hundred Elizabeth Holmes imitators, each uncomfortably staring into our soul with the same uncanny intensity.

The objective, it seems, is to find a reference obscure enough to warrant congratulations for thinking of it, but recognizable enough that the joke can survive without explanation — all while avoiding the unfortunate discovery that several other people have come up with the same “original” idea. There is, after all, little satisfaction in spending three weeks plotting an elaborate cultural reference only to be asked, “What are you supposed to be?”

“I feel like everybody has this idea of being super unique in their Halloween costumes and something that people haven’t done before,” Vie Vie C. Blanchard ’27 says. For one of her earlier Halloweens, she tried to walk the line between being funny yet recognizable by dressing up as comic book character Captain Underpants.

Angelina Chen ’27 similarly observed an “aversion to appearing basic.” Rather than dressing as a generic pirate, for example, students might opt for Captain Hook. The distinction is admittedly small, but as the pressure to concoct a niche and culturally relevant ensemble increases, specificity counts for something. Chen considered going as Punch, the Japanese macaque whose loneliness recently made him an internet celebrity, but abandoned the idea when too few friends understood the reference.

Chen adds that students often want to be “culturally relevant,” but, of course, “also look hot at the same time.”

The torturous process of deciding a costume is only half the battle — now comes the burden of finding the articles of clothing needed to put together the outfit. Yet whether it’s rushing an Amazon Prime order or borrowing from friends, a truly determined Halloween celebrant will always find a way to put something together.

For Sidney M. Regelbrugge ’28, her last-minute Sexy Green M&M costume this year was procured at The Garment District, a thrift and costume shop in Cambridge. The shop’s racks upon racks of costumes offer a treasure trove for any urgent Halloween shopping, with secondhand options sometimes cheaper than buying a new costume. Regelbrugge has shopped at the Garment District since freshman year, and the visits have gradually become a Halloween tradition for her and her friends. Though less curated than the Garment District, Regelbrugge also recommends exploring Goodwill outlets.

Unfortunately, both these writers procrastinated assembling our array of costumes this year, turning to our closets (and our friends’ closets) for last-minute pieces. To add a touch of creativity — though creativity might be a generous word — we procured fluorescent wigs for our respective ensembles. Filiz dressed as a glittery unicorn with a rather unfortunate pink bob, and Sophie opted for a fabulous bright blue wig from the movie “Trolls,” both acquired through a suspiciously cheap Amazon bundle.

While our costumes certainly didn’t turn any heads this Halloweekend, we take comfort in knowing that our regrettable lack of originality made our more niche and innovative counterparts stand out even more.