S'up Ghouls? What you saying Goblins? - The Chaff with Scott Stephenson

Oh, you left it too late again, didn’t you? Halloween is here, the Spirit Halloweens are stripped bare like haunted carcasses of capitalism, and your one friend with a sewing machine is “taking a break from being everyone’s costume crutch.” Fear not, fellow procrastinator. The Chaff is here to remind you that the most versatile, biodegradable and ink-stained costume material has been sitting on your doorstep all along. No, not the pizza flyer. We’re talking about the newspaper. The inky, crinkly miracle of print media. The original fabric of fear.

 

Let’s begin with the classics. First up: Newspaper Man, a hero forged in pulp and deadline pressure. Simply wrap yourself in yesterday’s headlines, tape on a masthead and stride confidently into the night as the embodiment of current events. Don’t worry about the paper tearing; that’s called “breaking news”.

 

For those seeking gender inclusivity, we present the modern marvel: Newspaper Woman and Newspaper Gender-Neutral Person. These costumes celebrate the full diversity of journalism’s readership and the inclusive chaos of DIY fashion. Fashion yours with full-body broadsheets, local op-eds for armour and a stylish hat made of the sports section (nothing says empowerment like yesterday’s hockey scores balanced elegantly on your head). 

 

If you prefer something more action-oriented, there’s the Newspaper Warrior. Construct makeshift shoulder pads from the classifieds and a sword rolled from an editorial on climate change. It’s a battle-ready ensemble, ideal for defending democracy or fending off raccoons attracted by the papier-mâché glue. The ink may bleed, but so does courage.

 

For the more nostalgic soul, consider The Newsie, a timeless costume that pairs a crumpled cap with a chorus of “Extra! Extra!” at every passerby. You don’t even have to sell the papers, just shout vague breaking news to remind people that journalism still exists.

 

Minimalists may prefer Blank Front Page, a haunting commentary on censorship, or simply the reality of a publication that missed its print deadline. Just show up in plain white sheets of paper and a haunted expression. People will assume you’re either postmodern or in crisis, both of which are valid Halloween moods.

 

For couples, there’s the elegant pairing of Newsprint and Opinion. One of you dresses in straight factual reporting, the other in emotionally-charged rants. Spend the night bickering publicly. Alternatively, go as Saturday and Sunday Edition, which lets you stay in your pyjamas while explaining that you’re “a weekend supplement”.

 

If you’re attending a party with a competitive costume contest, consider taking things one step further with The Front Page Exclusive. Choose a single shocking headline and plaster it across your chest in bold, uneven Sharpie. Surround yourself with smaller print stories about your mysterious rise to fame, and carry a stack of fake press releases to hand out to admirers. The beauty of this look is its self-fulfilling prophecy: by the end of the night, you will be the story. Just remember to cite your sources (or at least gesture vaguely at the recycling bin).

 

And for those who prefer subtlety over spectacle, nothing beats The Classified Ad, a minimalist masterpiece of small-print wit. Cut out personal ads, lost pet notices and questionable roommate offers, and tape them to yourself like enigmatic tattoos. Each conversation becomes a reading exercise; each dance, a live auction. Bonus points if you end the evening with a sign that reads “Wanted: Better Costume Ideas.” It’s meta, it’s messy and, much like the newspaper itself, it refuses to go quietly into digital oblivion.

 

And for the daring environmentalist, The Recycled Scandal, made entirely from shredded political headlines, glued into a wearable reminder that no one escapes their past, not even costume designers. It’s sustainable, dramatic and guaranteed to shed confetti when you dance.

 

Accessories are easy. A rolled-up paper becomes a weapon, a wand, or a stress tool for when people ask what you’re supposed to be. Tape some business cards to your arm, claim you’re a press agent. Carry a mug that says “#1 Editor” and insist people address you as “Chief”. Ink smudges double as eyeliner.

 

At the end of the night, your costume can be responsibly composted, or read. Few Halloween getups offer a snack for the intellect and the soil alike. And should the wind pick up and scatter you across the street, take solace in knowing that, for one brief evening, you truly embodied The Chaff.

 

So grab your recycling bin, a roll of tape and a reckless sense of urgency. It’s Halloween, and tonight the headlines walk among us.