Advertisement

SKIP ADVERTISEMENT You have a preview view of this article while we are checking your access. When we have confirmed access, the full article content will load.

Unlike the rest of you, I’m not agonizing over a Halloween costume. I know what I’ll be. I know who I am: Grapes.

I’ve been Grapes every year since 2009 — nearly two decades. I don’t expect that I will stop, either. It’s a lifelong commitment to the bit. Grapes gives the feeling of Cronenbergian body horror: a freakish solid with near-liquid bounce.

The first time I dressed as a bunch of grapes, I was 21 and new to New York. I didn’t know what I was looking for, only that it had to be quick and easy, a bit of a gag, and within my Balthazar-server budget. I wanted armor — friendly up close, spooky at a distance; perceived but not seen. I was a weird queer brown kid navigating a new social world. I wanted attention, but not follow-up questions. I didn’t yet believe I had anything to say.…