It reared its bony head in 2020, during that first, chaotic pandemic year that was rife with grief and fear but also toilet paper hoarding and questionable lockdown-inspired purchases. Behold Skelly, the 12-foot, 90-pound skeleton with glowing LCD eyeballs, on sale for $299 from Home Depot, just in time for Halloween — at least, if you can get your hands on one.
Many did, because this is America. And when we get sad, stressed or bored, we shop, drowning our collective anxieties in things that we definitely don’t need but most certainly want.
So, beginning in 2020, Skelly showed up on suburban lawns from California to New Jersey and on brownstone stoops in Brooklyn, naked or dressed in a costume, towering over jack-o’-lanterns and plastic gravestones with spooky puns like “Rest In Pieces.” It didn’t take long for people to realize that keeping Skelly out year-round meant new opportunities to dress him for every season: Christmas, Fourth of July, or even just a bikini for summer.
In 2024, Skelly got a chest lightning attachment. And in 2026, a Bluetooth connection lets you record sounds or speak into it live, entertaining (or unsettling) your whole block. He also has a dog, a cat, and a smaller, 6½-foot version for those who can’t quite commit to a giant. It has sold out before Halloween every year.
“It is the ultimate American decoration,” says Aubrey Horowitz, merchant of Decorative Holiday at Home Depot. “We really love this sense of nostalgia and having some form of connection with our communities and the people that live around us. And frankly, you know, a lot of times bigger is better.”
I did not celebrate Halloween until I arrived in the US from Eastern Europe at age 13. I was shocked by the sheer size of everything: giant cars, highways with all those lanes, enormous gallons of milk instead of our polite liters, skyscrapers so tall they were licking the clouds.
We also weren’t used to whimsy. Gaudy yard decor, whether for Halloween or Christmas, was as foreign a concept as warehouse shopping or smiling at strangers.
Skelly would have certainly stopped us in our tracks. It still does. The uniquely American delight it brings to me, an immigrant still often in awe of Americans’ seasonal joy and over-the-top ornamentations, is contagious.
The US did not invent Halloween. But Halloween excess, with its pillowcases full of candy, elaborate costumes for everyone from babies to adults to dogs (and a few unlucky cats), could not be more American.
