We don’t have high expectations for parties, but they should be more than strolls down the street in costume. Castro Halloween’s legendary block party fell pretty flat on Saturday—leaving us with another quiet comeback like last year’s. That also feels intentional.
We didn’t hate it though. We visited Glow in the Streets and half a dozen bars, including Toad Hall, Midnight Sun, Twin Peaks Tavern, 440, and the Edge. Everywhere was packed with messy drunks holding beers and vodka crans; the vibe skewed mid 20somethings with huge smiles plastered amid throngs of tacky, but often spectacular costumes.
The night just lacked pizazz and any real revelry, as though the organizers behind Castro Halloween are still afraid to push the envelope, barricade the streets and let people dance in them.
San Francisco’s comeback summer is all we talk about lately at the Embarcadero, Civic Center, and downtown. There’s also Diplo run, massive night markets, and Bay to Breakers. We love to party and raised big money to do it this year.
Compare that to Castro Halloween, which got a 17-year hiatus after a string of violent incidents in the 2000s that injured many and killed one. Initially it made sense to curtail the mob: Our city could not prevent stabbings and shootings that showed no sign of abating at these popular queer events. Now what’s the reason it’s left out?
The big difference since 2006 is now we’re constantly connected. Today, not only could violence happen in San Francisco, it could happen — pearls clutched — inside a queer neighborhood that’s supposed to be a safe space, and the world would be watching. But it was never safe to be queer; our spaces were created by people who were unafraid to live aloud and in spite of obvious danger.
So bring the real party back, please. Barricade the streets and let people dance; we can’t stay grounded forever. For now, this weekend yielded a small Sunday activation with Sister Roma, preceded by an okay Saturday night of debauchery. Long lines wrapped around many bars that all charged covers. The couples costumes were coming in hot. We saw a couple of ghosts, some sisters, pirate pairs and vampire duos.
A crowd of revelers pitched camp at a parklet outside of 440, and this is what we came for. The mood here was measurably livelier, and we were able to get a clear view of the costumes in all their glory. Here there was a sex doll who had the pose down to a science.
Jack-n-the-Box then stepped up the performance game. For such a simple costume, he provided endless joy; Passerbys would literally start screaming when they noticed him. Does Jack-n-the-Box have a cult following that we’re not aware of?
The flamingo was hilarious. Every time its wearer would forget that he had it on, it would accidentally rest its head on people’s shoulders, or kiss someone on the cheek. Everyone played along.
Then these two girls quietly sat a table in the window of Cafe Mystique. They donned fairy-style accessories in their hair and on their face; in a tasteful fitting way, that looked more like a personality trait than a costume. They were peaceful, and maybe that’s what I wanted.
We bopped around the bars and caught up with people; one bartender noted at around 12:30 a.m. that this sort of felt like a normal Saturday, even though they brought in more staff for Halloween. The night ended soon after at the Edge with a gogo in a glitter jockstrap and some awkward conversation.
There are obvious risks to bringing Halloween back to its full splendor, and we should be cautious if we do. But there’s a big difference between caution and the sanitized version we have today. A new generation of young queer people have only heard what Halloween here used to be like. They need the opportunity to bond with the spirit of what made those nights legendary, and through those experiences, form lasting connections with the Castro and with each other.
For now we’ll take the quiet nights such as they’ve been, but we’ve been promised a big reveal next year in line with the reopening of Castro Theatre. Don’t let us down, organizers.
Saul Sugarman is editor in chief of The Bold Italic. Courtney Muro is a San Francisco-based content strategist, producer, designer, and creator.
The Bold Italic is a non-profit media organization that’s brought to you by GrowSF, and we publish first-person perspectives about San Francisco and the Bay Area. Donate to us today.
More photos from Castro Halloween 2024
All photos by Courtney Muro for The Bold Italic.
