Save the date, save the world: 10/18/25

Can we can use witchcraft to conjure genuine friendships?

Witches.

This year, my annual Halloween experience, Dark Corners, is going to be about witches.

And yes, spoiler alert—but I think what we lose in surprise, we’ll make up for in excitement.

So why witches? Well, let’s go back for a moment.

As a child, I only have one memory of dressing up for Halloween. My mom took me to Walmart—I must have been in 1st or 2nd grade—and we spent a few dollars on a Friday the 13th hockey mask.

I’m sure I looked terrifying, clocking in at three-foot-eleven.

I don’t know why, but that’s the only memory I have of Halloween as a child. It probably has something to do with money. I didn’t grow up with a lot of money. And Halloween can be fucking expensive.

Whatever the case, over time, I remember feeling rebellious at the very idea of Halloween. I would say things like, “Well, I’m a theater kid. And I like to dress up on stage, and I don’t want to be on stage when I’m off stage.”

Or some bullshit like that.

But the truth is, dressing up triggered a sexual identity insecurity in my teens. I’d see people dressing up and having the time of their lives—putting on makeup and being all glam, and it just made me feel uncomfortable.

So I pretended to not care.

We all have our coping mechanisms.

When my friends Max and Jen invited me to their first Halloween party in 2013, I literally remember complaining to my then-partner, Chris, about it. “Ugh. I hate dressing up. I don’t want to do this. This is going to be terrible.”

We ended up going as Mario and Luigi and were the talk of the backyard-party town.

Shot on a PotatoSE.

That’s my memory of it, anyway. I think because I never really showed people after high school theater that dress-up side of myself, it came as quite a delightful surprise.

A delightful surprise that became beautifully addicting. Halloween was once something that I rebelled against, but it became a mechanism by which I could lean into and explore what dressing up meant to me.

The following year, I’d end up going as Ness from Nintendo’s Earthbound.

Funny how I’d actively avoid going as a character wearing a red hat today.

The following year, I’d go as Dana Scully from The X-Files—which would trigger a series of years of me dressing up as women and exploring my feminine side.

It was a fucking banger of an era:

Left to right: my friend Zach Sundelius (as Steve “Jobs,” pronounced as in “Job” from Arrested Development—Zach’s classic annual pun-based Halloween costume bit), me, and my friend Jona Xiao as… well, honestly I don’t know. Medusa? Are those snakes? @Jona, help!

Years after this, I’d go on to meet the film editor of Batman Returns and promptly never show him this photo because I was afraid that he’d think I was a psychopath fan that entered the film industry solely to track him down.

With those backyard Halloween parties, Max and Jen planted the seeds that evolved into an immersive experience that people mark their calendars for. People have formed real friendships here. They've started dating. These—and other similar experiences I’ve designed—have sparked several marriages.

These aren’t just parties—they’re catalysts for genuine connection in an increasingly disingenuous world.

“And we need that. All of us.” - Nicole Kidman, referring to movies but also about my events, probably.

Is it just me, or is making friends fucking impossible as an adult?

I'm currently in Australia, working on a film. At our kickoff crew party last night, I found myself deep in conversation with Mara as we both stood in line to get a drink at the bar. Mara is an art director and set designer.

"Living in Sydney has made friendship feel impossible," she confided. "You reach out to someone saying 'Let's hang out!' and they respond with 'Sure! I've got a free Tuesday... three weeks from now.'" She laughed."Which is absurd enough, but then those three weeks pass, and you don't even end up meeting."

She paused for a moment, thinking, then continued, "Years ago, back in Italy, I had borrowed a key to my friend's apartment. I called her when I happened to be in her neighborhood to see if I could slide the key under her mat. 'I'm home! Knock! I'll make an espresso!' We talked for two hours. It was beautiful. But it wasn't special—it was ordinary. That's just how friendship worked back home."¹

Friendship is harder than ever. And if I—a so-called super-connector—am saying that, what chance in hell does anyone else have?

We’re not lacking desire. We’re just out of shape.

One reason for this: screens.

Screens are easier. More predictable. More rewarding in the short term.

Do I want to listen to my friend complain about how "dating in L.A. is, like, omg impossible" and watch as my soul exits my body in real-time?

Or do I want to just passively stare into the black mirror of a screen?

Netflix doesn’t judge me.

TikTok doesn’t interrupt me.

A video game doesn’t reject me.

No awkward pauses. No unexpected disagreements. Just easy. Just meh. Just flow. And suddenly four hours have zipped by and oh, would you look at that, time to go to bed and do it all again tomorrow.

And then! And THEN!—we wonder why we’re too fucking exhausted to hang out!

Too often, the screen wins.

And when it does, we lose.

Here's the hilarious irony: the very friction we're avoiding—the messiness of human interaction, the unpredictability, the potential for discomfort—is exactly what we need most. It's in that friction that growth happens. It's in those awkward pauses and unexpected disagreements that we discover who we actually fucking are.

Because you know what? Dating IS impossible. And those complaints need to be heard. And we actually need to give unsolicited advice to that friend and tell them to maybe stop going after unhealthy relationships and then maybe they’ll have a chance at love.

Or whatever! The point is—there’s this mental health pie chart and socializing—in all its friction-filled messiness—is absolutely, unarguably, essential to a fully realized healthy human life.

We go to the gym, we lift weights over and over, and our physical fitness improves.

We hang out with friends, we help lift the emotional weights for each other, and our Social Fitness™ improves.

I’m literally coining the term Social Fitness™.

And everything from my game nights to my annual Halloween extravaganza is going to be infused with opportunities to improve our Social Fitness™.²

So this year, Dark Corners enters its WITCH ERA: a dark pop dance cauldron that lets people dissolve their ego and align themselves with their truest selves, which, if we can crack it… will allow friendships to naturally form as we each gather in a space… as those truest selves. Kinda like how friendship just flows when we’re kids. Back in school, you’d just pick up a fucking plastic truck or doll and start talking to someone you’ve never met and talk about why random shit is cool.

We’d play.

We’d just start playing.

Vibe-wise, I'm naturally drawing inspiration from Lady Gaga's "Disease" and "Abracadabra," but also from tarot imagery, and the concept of conjuring personal magic through inner conflict and healing. Picture ultraviolet purples, greens, and reds, with laser lights cutting through fog, the dance floor itself becoming a cauldron of movement, release, and connection.

This mirrors something bigger happening in the world. Right now, society feels broken, directionless, and our individual screen-lives are making us the most divided we’ve ever been. We’re searching for answers “out there”—which I’m increasingly becoming convinced don’t even exist.

But what if, instead, we turned inward and started looking for the answers “in here”?

In ourselves.

Perhaps if everyone did “the work” and healed themselves, the world healing would kinda just take care of itself.

I’ve done—and continue to do—“the work,” and I’ve experienced firsthand how powerful it is.

And how fucking hard it is.

But the effects? Well, it feels like witchcraft.

I'm turning 40 this year. Entering (roughly) the second half of my life has me thinking about ritual, about marking time in meaningful ways. I want this party to feel like a spell we cast together. I'm imagining each guest receiving a video a week before the party with a country line-dance-esque bit of choreography to learn, so that we can move in harmony with each other on the dance floor.

Because this year, it’s not just me performing. It’s not just me conjuring.

It’s all of us.

So here's what I want to know: what are you missing from the parties you attend? From the friendships you’re seeking? What do you want to walk out of a party feeling? And do you feel the same heaviness around making friends that I do? Also, bonus… what's your witch archetype—what kind of personal magic are you trying to conjure in your life right now?

I have a clearer artistic vision this year than ever before, but I'm opening the garage door to let you see the process. Text me, comment down below, dream with me. This isn't just my party—it's a social fitness experiment we can all build together.

And if we’re successful, guests will leave the party on the night of October 18th, 2025, thinking to themselves, “Holy shit… I think I made a real friend tonight.”

What a powerful spell that would be.

1. And if you’re curious why these last few paragraphs sound like I’m writing a novel… maybe I am practicing on how to write a novel, nbd.

2. Okay, I’ll stop with the ™ but for real—you heard it here, first, folks. It’s a real thing I’m going to be talking about and building out in serious detail. Like, I dunno, maybe I’ll write a book about it.