The prominent lawyer wove his way through racks and racks of zoot suits, King Henry VIII regalia and 1920s gangster pinstripes. He started peeling away layers of his own $1,500 business suit. And with the tug of a waistband and the shrug of a new jacket, he became someone else. Again and again and again.</p><p>Treasure-hunting his way through different disguises at Harris Costumes, in search of an outfit for a charity masquerade, he spent about two hours at the 60-year-old wonderland in west Fort Worth. </p><p>Owner Korey Williams doesn&rsquo;t remember exactly what the lawyer finally settled on &mdash; maybe a pirate costume. But she&rsquo;ll never forget what he said as he left: "I have to tell you guys, I have enjoyed this more than anything I&rsquo;ve done in a long time. Because for two hours, you have made me forget my office."</p><p>In this stressed-out, Bluetoothed, BlackBerry-encrusted, recession-depression spiral we call modern life, we all could use a little more masquerade. That&rsquo;s why, in the thick of a struggling economy, America keeps spending billions on M&M&rsquo;s and Bernie Madoff masks. This year, Halloween sales are expected to reach a record-breaking $6 billion &mdash; up 4.2 percent from the $5.77 billion in 2008, according to research firm IBISWorld.</p><p>And in Fort Worth, playing a part isn&rsquo;t just for Halloween. With two world-class costume shops and a steady stream of local, year-round costume parties at TCU, we&rsquo;re all about the great escapism. </p><p>"I&rsquo;ve always liked costume parties," Angela Baine says. "It&rsquo;s one of the only times as an adult you have the license to dress up and be whatever you want."</p><p>Like a human breathalyzer. Or a walking tequila bottle. Or a skanky hula girl. Even a spot-on version of the short-shorts-wearing Lt. Jim Dangle of <em>RENO 911</em>. Or a "chick magnet" (dude with a bunch of Barbies glued to his shirt). </p><p>All of those characters have walked through the doors at Stewart Turnage&rsquo;s legendary Halloween bash over the last 15 years. Because, face it: Busting out of society&rsquo;s homogenized death grip to celebrate our individuality is fun as hell.</p><p>This year, Baine and her husband, Fred, went to Turnage&rsquo;s party dressed as "a pimp and a ho." (Him: black velvet leopard-trim hat and suit. Her: leopard-skin jumpsuit.) </p><p>"It&rsquo;s a cheap way to escape the reality of the financial situation and have a good time," says Geri Preston, a Turnage partygoer who dressed as Sarah Palin last year. </p><p>"It doesn&rsquo;t cost much to play a part."</p><p><strong><span class="subhead">Not just Halloween</span></strong></p><p>Harris Costumes and Magic Etc., two veteran costumers, sit just a couple miles apart in west Fort Worth. Both shops also specialize in costuming school and community theatrical productions.</p><p>At Harris, you won&rsquo;t find any prepackaged costumes. The store is a delightful, dizzying labyrinth of crushed velvet, Star Trek and Stormtrooper chic, Viking helmets, Fred Flintstone-wear, and chicken heads, bunny heads, donkey heads, dolphin heads, any heads. In fact, there is a special room tucked in one of the store&rsquo;s hidden nooks just for animal heads. Beautifully surreal.</p><p>The shop houses more than 17,000 rental costumes, which average about $45 for a 24-hour rental. </p><p>And even though Halloween is the store&rsquo;s most insane period of the year in terms of traffic, owner Williams says she rents costumes year &rsquo;round. "We get a lot of TCU students," Williams says. "A lot of fraternities and sororities throw costume parties for rush and different events." </p><p>Earlier this month, TCU&rsquo;s Phi Kappa Sigma fraternity hosted a camo-themed party at Aqua Lounge, where people turned up in various military garb: World War II-style, contemporary, even hippie-ish Vietnam vets, says Spencer Brown, vice president of the fraternity. Among the frat&rsquo;s past costume parties: mafia (Bugsy Malone-style gangsters) and high-school heroes (letterman jackets and homecoming-queen tiaras).</p><p>Then there are masquerade parties for charity organizations, themed birthday parties, the Junior League of Fort Worth, the Jewel Charity Ball. "And themed weddings," Williams says. "The medieval wedding is probably the most popular." </p><p>That&rsquo;s what Freddie Jones Jr. is throwing for his stepson. "He always said he wanted to get married on Halloween," Jones said. So, this Oct. 31, if you see a groom decked out as a knight in shining armor, a kingly looking dad and a minister strolling around Fort Worth in a cardinal&rsquo;s cassock, that&rsquo;ll be the Jones wedding.</p><p><strong><span class="subhead">Who, or what, do you want to be?</span></strong></p><p>Some people wander through a costume shop browsing for ideas. But on a recent October day at Harris Costumes, William Brewer knows exactly what he wants to be. The trick is finding the right pieces. </p><p>"I like the Inverness cape," he says, modeling the black-and-white houndstooth number. "It just says 'Sherlock&rsquo; to me." Brewer then pulls on a matching Sherlock Holmes-ian cap, and turns to his wife, Anna.</p><p>"It&rsquo;s pretty dorky, when you get right down to it," she says, smiling warmly.</p><p>"But when you throw in the pipe," William says, "it all just kind of works."</p><p>The Brewers are faithful customers at Harris Costumes, and on this day, they&rsquo;re relying on the Harris staff to help them sleuth out costumes for their annual costume party &mdash; this year, it&rsquo;s a literary theme. (Anna was aiming for Pippi Longstocking.)</p><p>Over at Magic Etc., customers will find a mix of rentals, store-bought costumes, a riotous rainbow of wigs and go-go boots, and a serious makeup counter. And among the red Thriller jackets and Beatles-inspired gear, you can&rsquo;t help but notice a definite sign of the times: a tsunami-sized "Sexy Wall" &mdash; row upon rows of prepackaged women&rsquo;s costumes that put a little "naughty" into everything from angels and referees to Alice in Wonderland and the Cowardly Lioness. (Our vote for most disturbing: the Sexy Nun. Saints preserve us.)</p><p>"Risque is very big for the girls," says Bunny Miles, a supervisor at Magic Etc., which has been costuming the Metroplex since the mid-1980s. </p><p>Also hot this year at Magic, thanks to a certain hit movie starring Woody Harrelson: <em>zombies</em>. </p><p>But don&rsquo;t go thinking it&rsquo;s a snap to achieve that vacant, brain-munching undead look on your own. Miles says a lot of people come in for help with zombie makeup.</p><p>And like the folks at Harris Costumes, Miles says Magic Etc. sees a steady stream of business all year long. Renaissance fairs, high-schoolers, Trekkies, anime kids. "Every weekend there&rsquo;s a &rsquo;70s party," she says. "The &rsquo;80s are coming in, but not as big yet. And Afro wigs, pimp costumes, gold chains and go-go boots. We probably sell more go-go boots than anything."</p><p>At the beginning of the school year, Miles says, there&rsquo;s a Paschal High School tradition called Polyester Days &mdash; now, we&rsquo;d just call it &rsquo;70s nostalgia. "We sell probably 200 pairs of boots for that," Miles says.</p><p>This made us think of Geri Preston, the Sarah Palin lookalike. She said she loved Halloween because it gave her the chance to climb out of her CPA box and let loose. But Preston shouldn&rsquo;t reserve just one day a year to dress up in a kooky costume. Neither should we. Life is much too short and stressful. </p><p>So remember, happiness is just a chicken mask away.