I spent another early Halloween dressed as a mail carrier. Again, I’m not really sure of the motivation behind that one.

Illogical as these childhood costumes may seem now, they have one important trait in common. Each one allowed me to temporarily slip into a different persona, to experiment, to become something other than my childhood self.

In that sense, Halloween costumes should be irrelevant to college students. The entirety of our four years is meant for self-exploration, for trying on new masks and new costumes daily and figuring out what fits best. In theory, we have no need for a specific day to dare to become someone new.

Yet that isn’t quite how it works out. College students celebrate Halloween more intensely than most. Sure, we’ve traded princess (or, in my case, clock radio) costumes for something a bit more revealing, and we consume large quantities of alcohol instead of hard-earned Halloween candies. Still, we love the opportunity to play dress-up.

College does allow us some room for experimentation and change, but too often, it is insufficient. We too readily become prematurely trapped in costumes we chose long ago or in those laid out before us.

The decision to attend Wash. U. is itself in some ways confining. This is a school full of smart, motivated students. Accepting an offer of admission here commits us to four years—and eventually, a lifetime—of successful overachievement.

And then there are the majors we choose and the friends we acquire. These too confine us. Sometimes we switch our academic focus or our friendships alter, but these changes are the exception rather than the rule. As our college career progresses, our role here becomes increasingly pre-defined.

We have our entire lives ahead of us, full of set careers and familial obligations. True, there is a great deal of comfort in developing a fixed identity, and I often wish to speed up the process of self-discovery and arrive immediately at the knowledge of my purpose in life. Still, I’m not ready to be done playing dress-up.

Halloween shouldn’t be the only time we feel brave enough to slip on new roles and try things we would not attempt unmasked. We should be pushing ourselves routinely, constantly, to try more, to explore more, to be more.

We should be pushing each other, too. I wish I could say that bold experimentation comes solely from within and, therefore, reshaping our college experience requires nothing more than a few introspective glances in the mirror. The truth is, however, that redefining ourselves is much easier when the world around us is open to such redefinition.

Ultimately, we should strive to make the Wash. U. experience a bit more like a perpetual Halloween, albeit without the fake spider webs and tombstones. Or the clock radio costumes.

Eve is a junior in Arts & Sciences and a forum editor. She can be reached via e-mail at elsambor@wustl.edu.

When we were little, we celebrated Halloween by choosing an awesome costume and stuffing candy in our pillowcases that would last until February; but now college students celebrate Halloween by dressing—dare I say it—scantily and going to parties. Is this how Halloween will be for the rest of our lives?

Can we ever go back to sharing candy? In the end, the social aspect of Halloween stays the same, but we’ve shifted from celebrating the pursuit of candy to simply celebrating.

As we get older, Halloween shifts its focus from giving and sharing to self-enjoyment and smaller group interaction, and—when we look at a larger transition that has taken place over time—we can see that Halloween has become less collaborative overall. Halloween used to be a time when neighborhoods organized activities and trick-or-treating in a cooperative manner. Nowadays, parents are too worried about the infinite things that are lurking out there: not Frankenstein or Dracula, but child molesters and drugs. People interact less, and children grow up more wary of social activities. The real idea of Halloween—giving out treats and sharing experiences with others—is forgotten, and Halloween becomes just another occasion to indulge oneself.

In line with the shift from giving and sharing to pure entertainment, it’s interesting to note the massive hold entertainment merchandising has over the American public. Remember when Harry Potter came out, and every other kid was dressed up as Harry? And the same thing happened when Spider-man and Batman movies became popular. According to a survey from the National Retail Federation, American consumers spent almost five billion dollars on Halloween-related goods in 2006. In contrast, UNICEF has spent over 50 years collecting money each year during Halloween and has raised about 120 million dollars over the past 50 years.

The shift from social cooperation to personal entertainment is evident: We spend five billion dollars in one year for Halloween merchandise, but we’ve only raised a fraction of that for the past 50 years for a charitable cause.

But we’re all to blame. Before writing this column, I myself was not looking forward to handing out candy to annoying little kids who probably will all be dressed up as Hannah Montana or a “Twilight” character. However, it matters not; I will be the bigger person and be willing to share my candy (or, at least, bite-sized boxes of left-over raisins).

Aditya is a junior in Arts & Sciences. He can be reached via e-mail at aflutist89@gmail.com.