Graphic by Andrija Klaric/The Gazelle

Autumn has always been my favorite season: leaves change to vibrant sunset shades, the air grows cooler and crisper and there’s a magical energy surrounding the transition into winter. As a child, the pinnacle of the season came every 31st of October. Halloween was the ultimate magical occasion. My first costumes were a pumpkin, a flamingo and a candy corn.

I believe it was around the age of 13 when things started to shift as, one by one, my friends announced that for Halloween they’d be going as half-naked versions of admirable professions, ethnic groups or childhood characters. The costume ideas ranged from sexy cops to gypsies and, of course, the dreaded cat costume. All of these costumes involved a short hemline, an exposed midriff, or both; and when my friends paraded in front of me before heading out for the evening, I felt uneasy.

I wasn’t yet aware of the moral ramifications of degrading a certain culture, ethnicity or all of womanhood into nothing but a revealing outfit. I figured what was making me so uncomfortable was the fear that all of my friends would be cold on the chilly autumn night.

Two years later, I found myself sporting a sexy devil costume to a Halloween dance, where I proceeded to trip in my high heels and tug at my too-short hemline all night. I’ve never felt so uncomfortable with my appearance before, which was likely the product of trying my hardest to look sexy as an awkward teenager with no experience or real interest in being sexy.

I say "found myself" purposely; the entire thing had happened naturally, as all of my friends bought similar costumes themselves. It was a given that we’d dress this way for Halloween. It was only on that night, as I truly experienced the magic drained from Halloween, that I understood my discomfort from all those years ago - the idea that I needed to dress a certain way to fit in with my peers.

As the years went on, my awareness of Halloween costumes being misrepresentative grew. It went beyond degrading the admirable profession of police officer to a short shiny dress and handcuffs, or the Delicious Women’s PhD Darling Costume that Amazon recently began selling. Halloween is also a time when cultures and minority groups often get misrepresented.

Sexy Indian has been a popular costume, and is one of the most widely criticized. Many argue it belittles Native American culture and heritage given the racism and oppression that Native Americans have faced throughout U.S. history.

The proliferation of cultural appropriation — which shouldn’t be forgiven even for one night — seems to have spilled over into popular fashion. Big name designers are incorporating so-called Native American style into their designs. Take, for instance, Karlie Kloss in her 2012 Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show outfit, which consisted of ridiculous fringed leather lingerie and a Native American headdress that looked like it’d lost a fight with a bedazzler.

Often, representations go beyond cultural appropriation to overt racism. The costumes are not at all representative of a culture’s reality, and simply aim for mockery. Take this Hey Amigo Mexican Costume. The costume isn’t representative of Mexican culture whatsoever, and actually says more about U.S. Americans and their stereotypes. The fact that costumes like this are allowed to be publicly worn without a riot ensuing is shocking, but Halloween seems to be the night that all social norms or decorum fly out the window.

Comfort with cultural appropriation is perhaps most infamously embodied at Coachella, an annual arts and music festival that takes place in California in the U.S. Feathered headdresses abound, topping off outfits of ripped jean shorts and shirts that could just as easily be bras. The latest trend came in the form of the bindi, which U.S. celebrity Vanessa Hudgens sported this year.

Hindu and South Asian females were uncomfortable with their culture being commodified, as evidenced by the trending hashtag #ReclaimTheBindi, which celebrates the religious and cultural reasons to wear a bindi. A crazy week of partying and listening to music is not among that list.

Young people are constantly being fed examples of cultural misrepresentation without any consideration of the origin of the clothes or jewelry that they sport. Appreciation for other cultures can be beautiful and enriching, but by robbing cultures of their symbols without any understanding of their origins, we insult and threaten their very essence. While Halloween costumes are scary enough for a pre-pubescent girl who feels pressured to be sexy, they’re even scarier when we consider them within larger discourses of sexualization and cultural appropriation.

Halloween should remain a magical time even when our parents aren’t dressing us, and it certainly shouldn’t be a gateway to a comfortable relationship with misrepresentation of others professions or cultures. If Halloween costumes went back to showing what we all wished we could be for an evening, maybe more teenage girls would dress up as their most esteemed role model rather than the outfit closest to lingerie that they could find. Even beyond October, we need to always be mindful that we are responsible not only for how we represent ourselves but for those whom we may choose to represent.