
It’s been about five years since I stepped into an office, thanks to a global pandemic followed by a stint at a remote startup. Now, I have a new role and a hybrid work schedule, and I’ve been pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoy dressing for work. I’ve rediscovered my beloved blazer collection, reacquainted myself with heels that make a satisfying “clomp” on the office’s terrazzo floors and resumed my hunt for the perfect laptop bag. And then, there it was: A poster on the wall near the office kitchen inviting me to the office Hallowen party. Costumes are, I assume, encouraged.
I used to really like—no, love—Halloween. I’d pour hours of labour and hundreds of dollars into DIY costumes. My schtick was always dressing as an animal: A fish one year, with a dress made of scales I sewed myself, an ostrich another, a deer, a raccoon. But then, somewhere on the other side of 30 and post-pandemic, I lost the enthusiasm for clearing out craft stores of their entire stock of feathers or getting burned by a hot-glue gun.
But with my office Halloween party looming, I’m left wondering what to wear. Do I resurrect my love of dressing up and go all-out, drawing a ton of attention along the way? Or do I play it cool with a pair of cat ears or some spider-web print tights and lay low? (And possibly risk not looking like a team player.)
In search of answers for what to wear to my office Halloween party, I turned to Avery Francis, who leads the HR and DEI consultancy, Bloom (which as it happens, educates companies and teams on all kinds of inclusion and sensitivity matters, like navigating Halloween) and is also the host of the work-centric Girlboss Radio podcast, making her an expert in such tricky professional situations. Here’s her advice.
First, Francis tells me to get over myself. “Halloween can be a great opportunity to show another side of yourself to your colleagues,” she says. “For example, I’m an artist outside of work, so I wore my paint clothes and brought my palette—called myself an artist—and it turned into a great conversation starter.” That said, Francis assures me that some low-effort cat ears are perfectly fine, “if it respects your boundaries on how much you want to engage.” Ultimately though, “Authenticity always trumps playing it safe for the sake of others,” says Francis, adding that anyone who’s unsure should ask their colleagues about what to expect.

I’d argue that very, very few people select a Halloween costume with the intention to offend, mock or culturally appropriate. But it can happen (even unintentionally) and that’s definitely a situation to be avoided in an office setting. “What might seem fun or innocent could be deeply harmful to those whose identities are often reduced to caricatures or costumes,” says Francis.
To make sure this doesn’t happen with your office Halloween costume (or any costume, honestly), Francis proposes a handy checklist of questions to ask yourself. Does this costume require me to mimic someone else’s culture or identity? Am I leaning on stereotypes or caricatures? Would I feel uncomfortable explaining my costume choice to someone from the culture or community it references? Am I using someone’s lived experience as a costume for entertainment? “If any of these answers are ‘yes,’ it’s a sign to reconsider,” she says. “If you’re unsure, it’s better to err on the side of respect.”
In my questions, I use Francis’ least favourite word: professional. “The term is rooted in systems of oppression that I actively work to slow down—or dismantle altogether. ‘Professional’ often creates this rigid binary: right versus wrong, appropriate versus inappropriate,” she says. Instead, she suggests asking: Is my costume appropriate for the context I work in? “That lens can be more flexible and realistic because what’s appropriate in one workplace might not be in another,” she reasons. The term to aim for here, according to Fracis, is “creative professionalism.”
“We all make mistakes—what matters is how we handle them,” says Francis. “If your costume offends someone, the first step is to listen without defensiveness. Apologize sincerely, acknowledging that the impact of your actions matters more than your intent,” she says. Francis also suggests changing out of your costume right away, if you can. And it doesn’t hurt to have some backup cat ears and black eyeliner, just in case.
After the party, reflect on what went wrong. The goal here isn’t to sit in guilt, says Francis, but rather to “learn, grow, and share what you’ve learned with others,” she says. “When you model growth, it can encourage others to do the same and create a ripple effect of positive change.”
And with that, I’m off to the craft store.
This article contains affiliate links, so we may earn a small commission when you make a purchase through links on our site at no additional cost to you.
Liz Guber is the Editor-in-Chief of FASHION. In her own words, she's "less interested in telling you what to buy, but rather why you want to buy it." Her work has appeared in The Kit, ELLE Canada, The Globe and Mail, the Toronto Star and Girlboss.