As soon as I saw Heidi Klum’s 
worm Halloween costume, I 
was gripped by the icy fingers of 
inspiration. I simply had to write 
about it. For those who somehow 
missed it, Klum dressed up as 
an enormous pinkish worm for 
Halloween — and by “dressed up,” 
I mean she underwent a complete 
transformation.
How to describe the worm 
costume. It takes a second to even 
realize there’s a person in the 
costume, let alone that it’s Heidi 
Klum. If I didn’t hear her talking 
in interviews outside her famous 
Halloween party (and believe 
in her indomitable Halloween 
spirit), I could be convinced she 
got some poor schmuck to dress 
up in her place.
Fundamentally, the worm is a 
bunch of pieces of foam, a ton of 
makeup and a lot of other special 
effects stuff that took months to 
make. Visually, it is a glistening, 
seven-foot-tall 
masterpiece 
that’s slimy to the touch. Klum’s 
body fills most of the worm, but 
towering above her face — yes, 
Klum’s eyes and mouth are her 
only features visible through 
small holes, giving the worm a 
disconcerting human expression 
— 
is 
several 
more 
feet 
of 
sickeningly realistic worm, which 

curves forward like a second 
face. Behind Klum’s shuffling 
feet are still more meticulously 
crafted rings of shiny brown foam 
protruding like an avant-garde 
gown’s train. 
The costume itself, which I have 
lovingly dubbed the “klumworm” 
in casual conversation, is a feat. 
It was meant to be outlandish, as 
Klum constantly ups the ante of 
her Halloween outfits. Klum has 
a two-decades-plus history of 
outlandish Halloween costumes, 
including an old woman, herself 
as one of six clones, a cat that looks 
like it could be in “Cats” (2019), 
Princess Fiona from “Shrek” and, 
of course — who could forget? — a 
human body without skin. Klum 
is an icon in the fashion world. 
Most people, including myself, 
were first introduced to her via 
“Project Runway,” which she 
co-hosted until 2018 with the 
also-iconic Tim Gunn, but she’s 
also a supermodel and former 
Victoria’s Secret Angel. Now she 
can add “sickeningly realistic 
worm” to her lengthy list of 
achievements.
Klum said in an in-costume 
interview with Entertainment 
Tonight (while lying on the floor 
after the precarious costume 
caused her to fall) that the 
worm took the artists “months” 
to construct, and that she felt 
“very claustrophobic” inside the 

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Wednesday, November 16, 2022 — 5

Read more at MichiganDaily.com

I’m more worm 
than Klum

EMILIA FERRANTE
Senior Arts Editor

I would rather stub my toe 
repeatedly than wear my high 
school’s merch in public. It’s 
not that I had a horrible high 
school experience or that my 
school colors were particularly 
unpleasant; my high school gear 
is just an eyesore that I would 
rather leave in the past. Why 
linger? In fact, I use the high 
school hoodies that I guiltily 
packed for college as makeshift 
hair towels on laundry day. I’m 
now trading out my faded blue 
and maroon for new, tags-still-on 
blue and maize — two colors that 
fit together much better.
I, 
without 
shame, 
regard 
Michigan gear as the epitome 
of high fashion. When I rifle 
through my closet, trying to 
choose an outfit, my gaze falls 
on my Michigan hoodie. Or 
my Michigan T-shirt, or my 
other Michigan hoodie. Often, 
I relent, throwing on a pair of 
jeans or leggings underneath 
(or on a lazy day, my Michigan 

sweats). 
See 
how 
versatile? 
The outfit provides simplicity 
and comfort, but just the word 
“Michigan” etched on the front 
makes the look remarkable. I 
see countless students sporting 
similar looks and feel a sense of 
pride not only in this school but 
in myself for leaving behind what 
was comfortable and instead 
pursuing growth and challenge.
When I told people I was going 
to the University of Michigan 
after high school, congratulations 
were never in order. Instead, 
their eyes would bug and they’d 
gasp, “Wow! That’s so far!” That 
was part of the appeal. I always 
knew that staying in New Jersey 
would never serve me, despite 
the fact that I am, admittedly, a 
creature of habit. Change scares 
me. But though it would have 
been more comfortable to stay 
close to home, keep my minimum 
wage job and think about my 
future only in horoscope-reading 
scenarios, I knew I could do 
more. I’d always dreamed of 
being a writer, but how could I 
have material to write about if 
I decided to stay close to home? 

Who wants to read about a girl 
who had the chance to change 
her life and chose not to? I knew I 
had to be adventurous and chase 
after the fresh, albeit scary new 
life I could build for myself at the 
University of Michigan. I chose 
to disconnect myself from all 
that I called home, knowing that 
if I let myself linger there, if I left 
a part of myself in New Jersey, I 
would never grow.
Finally coming to Michigan, 
it felt like I had entered a new 
universe. People awoke at the 
crack of dawn for game day, it was 
no longer embarrassing to sing 
the school song (or in this case, 
our fight song) and I felt so much 
belonging when I could wear my 
maize and blue and find so many 
people donning the same colors. 
I could finally have an education 
that not only challenged but 
excited me. I signed up for an 
Introduction to Creative Writing 
class, where I was able to study 
what 
I’m 
passionate 
about 
alongside equally dedicated and 
enthusiastic writers.
Therein my newfound style 
was born. Wearing Michigan 

gear helps me feel connected to 
the community here, with some 
people from New Jersey like me, 
while others show me the palm 
of their hand to indicate where in 
Michigan they are from. Wearing 
my obnoxious, mustard-colored 
clothing is also a sort of homage 
to myself. The ambition, the drive 
for success, it’s all seeped into the 
fibers of the clothes I, and other 
Michigan students, wear. 
When packing to return to New 
Jersey, I find myself stuffing all of 
my Michigan gear tightly in my 
deceptively small suitcase. I even 
pack the free hoodie that PNC 
bank gave out the first week of 
school. I did not come to Michigan 
with these items in tow, and I’m 
sure my mother wouldn’t like 
to hear that this is how I spend 
my money, but I can’t imagine 
parting 
with 
this 
clothing. 
Coming back to New Jersey for 
the first time since becoming a 
University of Michigan student 
feels like putting on a shirt that’s 
two sizes too small. I need room 
to grow, room to explore greater 
possibilities. So I choose to wear 
my maize and blue. 

Maize and blue: the epitome of high fashion

IRENA TUTUNARI
Daily Arts Contributor

Design by Evelyne Lee

Design by Abby Schreck

When 
my 
middle 
school 
introduced 
its 
musical 
theatre 
elective by putting on “Beauty 
and the Beast Jr.,” I played Chip. 
Well, I played Chip once and only 
once, at a Saturday morning dress 
rehearsal. I had appointed myself 
the understudy — the speaking 
roles went to the seventh and 
eighth graders, and I wanted to 
feel important as one of the few 
sixth graders in the cast. The young 
actress who had (rightfully) earned 
the part of Chip hadn’t shown up 
that day, which meant that I not 
only got to say her lines but also got 
to wear the bulky teacup costume. 
It couldn’t have been more than 
some painted fabric sewn around 
a hula hoop, but I thought it was 
something straight out of the movie. 
I rode the high of playing what was, 
to me, a lead role, all morning. It 
was on that day that I first fell in 
love with being onstage. 
Doing 
theatre 
in 
my 
teens 
has easily been one of the most 
rewarding experiences of my life. 
My parents insisted that my siblings 
and I do something active each year. 
In my freshman year of high school, 
after many fruitless attempts at 
different sports, my mom and I 
went to see my school’s production 
of “Hairspray.” She said that all the 

dancing would count as “something 
active,” and I immediately signed 
up for the summer musical.
I’ve played a wide range of 
characters over the years and worn 
an even wider range of costumes. 
I was in a “Guys and Dolls” dance 
number. I wore a dress my friends 
dubbed “the weed dress” because 
it was green and had a sparkly 
plant pattern on it. In another 
complicated dance number for 
“Curtains,” I played a mermaid. 
Being in Catholic school meant we 
wore seashell tube tops over white 
leotards — God forbid we show 
any actual skin, but considering I 
got an uncomfortable compliment 
from one of the dads in the cast, 
it’s probably good that we didn’t. 
I played a nun on more than one 
occasion (again, Catholic school). I 
wore a fur coat when I played Mrs. 
Van Daan in “The Diary of Anne 
Frank.” The coat was my character’s 
most prized possession, to the point 
where I probably rubbed its sleeves 
on my cheek to showcase my love 
for it more than I wore it as an 
actual coat. 
Under any other circumstances, 
I avoided being in the spotlight. My 
family would have to whisper-sing 
“Happy Birthday” to me at parties 
when I was a toddler. I hated being 
asked to play the piano when we 
had people over. Any time someone 
cheered for me at a sporting event, 
I’d turn and glare at them from the 

court. So what was it about being 
onstage that changed me? Did I 
feel more confident because I was 
playing a character? Did it have 
something to do with the clothes 
I wore? My costumes were never 
something I could have worn 
outside of a stage production, but 
they made me feel beautiful in their 
own way. I think the answer lies 
more in the ways that performing 
taught me to get out of my own 
head.
Mrs. Van Daan was one of my 
favorite roles I have ever played, 
and not just because I was onstage 
for the entire show. Mrs. Van 
Daan was so unlike myself: openly 
flirtatious, an instigator, stingy and 
dramatic. She was a “big” character. 
I was the furthest thing from big — 
I remember my director telling me 
not to be a “repressed white girl.” 
As such, inhabiting her personality 
took a lot of work. At the start of the 
rehearsal process, we played improv 
games in which we responded as we 
thought our characters would. I 
visibly froze during one game while 
trying to come up with an answer 
to the question. During another, I 
was ironically eliminated for trying 
to “stay alive” more than making 
character choices. A particularly 
scarring memory was having to stay 
after a tech rehearsal for “yelling 
lessons,” which left me in tears of 
frustration.

HANNAH CARAPELLOTTI
 Senior Arts Editor 

You are not alone.

Too blue
to Go Blue?

Don’t be afraid to reach out. We’re here for you. 
Connect with tools and resources at U-M that can 
help you thrive — from wellness classes and apps to 
useful information and counseling options.

Helping Leaders Feel Their Best:
wellbeing.umich.edu

Costume contemplations from a 
former theatre-kid

Design by Reid Graham