If you wear it ten times it practically pays for itself.

Before "Oh Al!" there was the swan dress, the outfit that consummated my Halloween obsession. Constructed in the first months of my junior year of college with the aid of a few reliable online vendors and a talented, albeit confused Chinese seamstress on Commonwealth Avenue, I managed to piece together the infamous feathered frock to flaunt it on a gorgeous, unseasonably warm night in Beantown. My seductively understated version of the notoriously panned, criminally misunderstood garment met a warm reception from both Oscar-associating waifs sporting last-minute variations on the "slutty college chick" ensemble, and wigged, glittered gay men attracted to dramatic plumes and creatively employed dancewear.



Every year following the Year of the Swan I have attempted to throw my creation back into the Halloween rotation, but it always feels wrong to repeat. The execution of a new idea accounts for ninety percent of my Halloween fun. But did I really ask a Chinese grandmother to sew the head of a plush swan to a white leotard so I could display her fine craftsmanship but one October eve? What a waste of feathered finery.

Then yesterday on Paper Magazine's online listings page:

ARMY OF BJORK
Who is it that never lets you down? Why it’s Bjork, in fact! You’ve sat through hour upon hour of Lars Van Trier films and you’ve pummeled pesky paparazzi, but you’re still no closer to Icelandic virtuoso Bjork. Don’t worry, you’re not alone. Sprinkle on some fairy glitter and throw together your favorite poultry-themed dress, before heading over to not-so-Hidden Place Stain Bar for a Bjork-themed costume party. Go. Really. It’s not up to you.
Stain Bar, 766 Grand St., (718) 387-7840. 8 p.m. Free.

Sadly, my costume currently migles with Mama Jones' matching velour sweatsuits in a Long Island closet, but I'm not sure I would have had the cajones to doll myself up and head to a party without a Matthew Barney, or at least my good friend Leeloo. My real problem, however, lies in my inability to let go of the following three questions:


How many people actually have swan dresses sitting in the closet, waiting to be pulled out on Bjork night?

Who are these people? (Aside from crazy dog owners and Ellen.)

Am I really one of them?