Why Americans are obsessed with Halloween

The best way to understand Americans’ hysteria for Halloween is to go straight to their doorbell and ask them the question – without forgetting to ask for candy when you pass by. Result of our races in a residential area of ​​Kansas City, this Thursday evening.

marine brunner, Kansas city (missouri)

“Oh my poor darling, are you all alone?” Standing in the doorway, Molly gives us a half-distressed, half-sympathetic look. The air of wondering what this poor girl can do all alone disguised as a clown on her landing, a priori far too old to go around the neighborhood for some treats.

With a bit of embarrassment, we try to explain to him the purpose of the maneuver. Ok, it’s been a while since we passed our driving test and got the right to drink alcohol – which doesn’t stop us from loving candy, disguises, stupid horror films and all. which relates to this wonderful Halloween celebration that most Europeans dismiss out of hand as “too commercial”.

Tonight, we would especially like to understand why Halloween is part of American heritagejust like Coca-Cola, the car or the Big Mac. “That’s a good question,” concedes Molly, in her thirties, training on the steps of her huge colonial house in the South Hyde Park neighborhood of Kansas City. “Actually, my mom takes care of all that,” she adds, waving her hand to encompass the giant cobwebs and plastic skeletons that clutter her porch.

We’re not going to blame him. Part of our love for Halloween is our memories. When, decked out in false plastic pointy teeth or a witch’s hat, flanked by a few school friends, we wandered happily from house to house in the neighborhood to accumulate Haribo, Snickers and other delicacies until it made us sick, under the good care of a patient dad.

David’s house.watson

A few blocks further, David, a young father in jogging pants whose son is happily frolicking around wearing a shark one-piece, is hard-pressed to answer me.

We will not have the opportunity to ask the question at the next stop. A sort of respectable mansion which loses a little of its seriousness with its portal in the shape of a giant inflatable cat and its multicolored plastic pumpkins.

watson

The owner, a sixty-year-old in a bathrobe whose demeanor vaguely evokes the alcoholic wife of the “Devil” in Hocus Pocushastens to stuff a handful of sweets into our bag, before slamming the door in our faces with relative delicacy. Too bad, we would have loved to cook her on her decorative choices.

That’s it for the reference.

“For me, it’s an opportunity to get away from everyday life,” explains Hannah, a forty-year-old whose balloon cat planted on the lawn alongside signs calling to vote for Kamala Harris, as the presidential election looms. in a handful of days.

Hannah’s cat watches us from the top of her house.watson

“It’s like celebrating Christmas. It is an important tradition. We’ve been used to doing it since we were little, explains Leo, a retired teacher, dressed in pajamas and flanked by a curious Labrador. I don’t have children, but it makes me happy to see these little monsters running around in the streets.”

Laura’s house.watson

A little further on, Laura opens the door of her house for us with a wary frown. “Aren’t you a little too big to ask for candy?” she asks. Reassured to see that we are not some sort of lonely psychopath let loose in the wild, she dares to shrug her shoulders and chuckle when we compliment her on the extraordinary giant mouth that adorns her porch.

The evening progresses, passers-by and leprechauns in costume become rarer, as are the stock of sweets and the houses still lit. “Ohhh, sorry! I was robbed! Do you want a cereal bar?” says Mary, a mother, as she hands us Rice Krispies Treats. This tragic shortage marks the end of our tour.

For those who do not wish to be disturbed, there is always an unstoppable argument: the sleeping baby.watson

Our evening ends at the local pub, Mainstreet Tavern, where karaoke and costume competitions will liven up the night until 3 a.m. Between two services, Mirella, the owner of the place, costume indeterminate, gives us a shot of cinnamon vodka and a compliment on our clown appearance. “We’re all a little obsessed with Halloween, right? That’s how it is in America, darling!” assures the young woman with a broad smile under her silver wig.

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