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THE QUESTION

My boyfriend and I are going to a dress-up Halloween party. It's at a fancy residence, and this is an upper-echelon social circle I would really like to be a part of. But he wants to go as a "gunny-sack-toting hobo," which I think sends all the wrong messages. He's got all these tattered clothes; he's going to rub dirt all over his face and wear a beat-up, torn-up old hat. I want him to go as something that makes him look attractive and handsome, like Frank Sinatra or Don Draper of Mad Men, but he refuses. Meanwhile, he says my outfit is "too slutty" (I'm going as a French maid), and we've had quite an argument. It's true, I'm over 40 and sometimes wonder how racy you're allowed to be at my age, but I figure it's my one chance to turn it on all year long without raising eyebrows. I'm worried our arguments over costumes will ruin the whole evening.

THE ANSWER

Damage Control Rule No. 1 Vis-à-vis Halloween Costumes for Adults is: Your costume should always make you look more, not less, attractive than usual.

Ignore this rule at your peril, brothers and sisters. I've seen it end in tears too many times.

Take, for example, a friend of mine from my 20s. Call her Joan. Joan, who was always complaining about being unjustly overlooked by men (with some justification: She was great, but lacked some of the attributes prized by Homo Superficialis, which was pretty much all of us back then) went to a Halloween party dressed as a "frumpy housewife."

And she wound up standing, or sitting, mostly alone, nursing her drink and a growing grudge against the opposite sex as one man after another avoided her, ignored her and/or excused himself after only a brief chat to chase after one of the naughty nurses or sexy devils at the party.

I'm ashamed to say I was as guilty as anyone. I wasn't always the mature, seasoned, well-rounded individual that appears before you today. At one point, Joan was trying to complain to me about what louses men are, but, dog that I was back then, I had my eye on a slinky little minx in a purple velour jumpsuit.

And I was like: "Hmm, yes, that's terrible, Joan, that's shocking, I can't believe men are avoiding and ignoring you because of your frumpy housewife outfit. It's shallow, it's superficial - oh, uh, could you excuse me a moment? I just have to go ... check on something. I'll be right back."

And poof! David Eddie melted into the crowd like all the rest, practically muttering under my breath as I left: "Here, kitty, kitty!"

(If I close my eyes I can still see that purple velour catsuit, gentlemen. Mee-freakin-yow!)

Explain to your boyfriend something similar could happen to him.

Remind him that costumes have a powerful effect on the human subconscious and, deep down somewhere, the way you present yourself? That's what people take you for.

(For example, you're lying on a hospital bed and a guy comes in. How do you know he's a doctor? His lab coat and clipboard. You don't ask for identification. But if a guy came in wearing, say, leather chaps and pasties, saying: "Well, well, well, how are we doing today?" You may have some doubts, yeah?)

As moody, complicated, suit-wearing Don Draper from Mad Men, he has a much better shot of basking in the attention of all and sundry.

I don't know if it's some kind of nostalgia thing or daddy thing, but the ladies are going gaga over this Draper dude. Whereas he would have to be a pretty charming hobo to get the same kind of reaction dressed in rags and with dirt rubbed all over his face.

But if, after you unspool the above vigorous spiel, he still insists on being a hobo, so be it. You can't force him. You are not the boss of him (not yet, anyway: Time and a ring will help you in this department).

Don't worry about it. Don't get your lacy, frilly little French-maid knickers in a knot. To completely mangle Martin Luther King: "Do not judge a man by the cast of his costume but by the content of his character."

In other words, if you want to show yourself to best advantage at this chi-chi soiree, your behaviour is obviously more important than your costume. You want to be asked back, you want to break in to this social circle? Your best bet is to act relaxed, like the two of you are getting along.

And like you're having fun! That's what this night is all about. Don't let concerns about your costumes overshadow your overview, which should be all about having a good time.

Vis-à-vis his and your concerns regarding the "sluttiness" of your outfit: pish-posh! It's Halloween, baby, a vacation from inhibition.

I don't care what age you are, sister. Work it! Own it! Shake it! Be it! After all, that's what it's all about, isn't it? Shedding the shackles of your regular 364-days-a-year identity and becoming, for a night, something else?

Therefore, I insist you wear your French maid outfit. I want you to become, for a night, une vraie sexy French maid.

Be as risquée, décolletée and naughtée (French, I believe, for naughty) as you wanna be. Put your notions of "taste" and "decency" in the pocket of your frilly, short little apron. Time to take your feather duster into the night, ma chérie, and stir up a little mischief!

David Eddie is a screenwriter and the author of Chump Change and Housebroken: Confessions of a Stay-at-Home Dad.

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