The theme of the annual Village Halloween parade this year was to have been a 2012 Mayan countdown. With the streets of downtown Manhattan already dark and apocalyptic in the aftermath of superstorm Sandy, the parade was cancelled for the first time in its venerated 39-year history.

But on Wednesday night, more than a hundred determined revelers whooped and danced through the Village anyway, brightening the darkened streets with costumes fashioned out of blinking lights and glowsticks. More people joined as the parade wound a zigzagging route up from Prince Street, past 14^th and toward the brightly lit buildings uptown.

Photo by Emily Johnson

“Well apparently [the parade] is rescheduled, but the only time to come out for Halloween is Halloween night,” said Christopher Hardwick, whose white coattails and top hat were decked out with blue lights.

“You can’t come out the Saturday before or the night before, its always Halloween where it’s rocking,” Hardwick said. “And there were a lot of people in the neighborhood without power with cabin fever. I walked here from the East Village, which has absolutely no power, down fourteen flights of stairs.”

Hardwick, who belongs to a group of costume enthusiasts known as Kostume Kult, was one of the organizers of the informal event. He regularly emcees the group’s float in the annual parade.

Police accompanied the parade through the streets, and for much of the way, the flashing lights on the NYPD vehicles were the main source of visibility. On Christopher Street, the crowd spilled into the middle of the road and officers had to hem them in with megaphones. Some of the marchers pitched in to restore order.

“Onto the sidewalk, darlings, everybody onto the sidewalk,” trilled an imposing figure dressed as Eleanor Roosevelt.

Some people on the event’s Facebook page had expressed worry that even a small, unofficial parade would be an unnecessary distraction for the beleaguered city. Jim Glazer, another organizer dressed as a red dragon, acknowledged these concerns.

“We had a mixed reaction,” said Glazer, more commonly known as Costume Jim. “Some people didn’t like the idea because they thought it would take away resources. But the people who really get art, I think, understand that helping people’s morale is a very important aspect of aid for downtown.”

It seemed to be working. Smiling faces appeared at windows lit by candlelight, peering down at the street and beckoning more people to come and look. Motorists stopped their cars on the street to take pictures. “Halloween is not dead!” one man yelled from a passing cab, eliciting cheers from the marchers. And occasionally the parade came upon unsuspecting, delighted costume-wearing people who joined in, swelling the size of the crowd as it marched on.

A small band featuring a large tuba-like instrument, akin to something out of a Dr. Suess story, provided the soundtrack for the parade. Cyclists rode alongside, speakers blasting Lady Gaga songs and the theme from “Ghostbusters.”

For fashion designer Megan Bielli, 24, the mob of light and noise was a welcome relief after days of quiet darkness in her East Village apartment, where she and her boyfriend had been steadily working their way through all of their perishable food.

“It’s been really dark and dreary going outside, walking around my neighborhood,” she said, a pair of glowstick ears perched on top of her head. “It was nice to go to work today where there’s electricity and charge my phone, check the internet. That’s where I found out about this. Otherwise I wouldn’t have known about it.”

She said she intended to join the others in walking up to where the power was back on.

“The whole point is not to be a nuisance,” she said. “It’s Just to shine a little light on a dark time.”

On the very first day of first grade, my teacher, Miss Cherry, made us introduce ourselves by standing in front of the class and listing our name, favorite vegetable, favorite holiday and favorite thing we owned. I watched as nearly every student declared “a white-bread baby-book name,” “carrots,” “Christmas” and “my dolly.” Then it was my turn. I proudly strutted up to the front of the room, turned around and proclaimed: “Marisa,” “eggplant,” “Halloween” and “shoes!”

Marisa Polansky

In my memory, that scene plays like a teen movie, where the DJ abruptly stops the record mid-jam and the partygoers fall silent and stare. Those four uncommon answers could have been responsible for my future as an “inside kid” during recess. Luckily, thanks to my dimples and the lack of cute schoolgirls at Franklin Elementary, I became a recess resident of the playground and my initial answers never changed.

After all, why should they? You know the game where you have to quickly say word associations, so someone says “cheese” and the next says “the moon,” and everyone laughs because you didn’t say sandwich or mouse or Wisconsin? I’m never the one laughing—but I figure I’m the one playing the game right. My first-grade answers were a precursor to that game.

I may not have known it then, but even my quirky name shaped who I would become. That name comes from my mom’s sister, Mary Ann, who once said if she could be named anything, she’d want it to be Marisa. I never knew her, but she inspired me to begin writing.

Last weekend, I got to thinking about why I love Halloween. For one night of the year, virtually every social norm is shamelessly disregarded at dusk—and no one so much as bats a false eyelash at the flagrant infractions.

Last year, after traveling on a bus from D.C. to New York City, at 8 p.m., when it had poured for over an hour, my vampire friends and I disappointingly declared the public parade rained out and ventured into the depths of the musty subway station. When we descended, it seemed as if a small-scale parade was taking place on the tracks. Jesus, Moses, Taylor Swift, Kanye West, an angel, a devil, President Obama and Kim Jong-il sat next to each other on the wooden benches awaiting their train.

All of these strangers, who would normally be peeved if even asked for the time by another, began having conversations about their plans for the evening and where they had bought their costumes. A costume-less camerawoman walked up to my friend and, without asking, took a close-up shot of his face. A forty-something man playfully began a dance-off with a young trick-or-treater. Every barrier permanently bolted with steel and barbed wire from Nov. 1 to Oct. 30 shatters on Halloween and you get a glimpse of what life would be like if every person who got into an elevator faced the back wall.

Most of all, though, I love Halloween because it lets me walk in someone else’s shoes.

Last year, when I was down with the day-after-your-favorite-holiday blues, my mom called me to her room to give me a present. I was surprised at this gesture, since my post-collegiate behavior in no way warranted gift-giving, but as my dad likes to point out, I am spoiled, so I sat on her bed with my arms open and eyes closed. When I opened them, in my hands were a pair of old red shoes. My mom and I are not the same size—and dirty shoes aren’t exactly what I would call a present—so I patiently awaited an explanation.

She told me they once belonged to Mary Ann. She said the red shoes had walked the streets of New York and had brought my aunt luck, and that’s exactly what I needed as I prepared to move to New York City. She said she was confident that the shoes were going to help me walk forward. Even though I was sad to be back from my trip for just that moment, I felt like another red-shoed girl confused about her future. I looked at my mom and thought, there’s no place like home.

Follow Marisa Polansky’s exploits on her blog Leetle Girl in the Big World at www.leetlegirlinthebigworld.tumblr.com.