I can vividly remember the first time I saw a giant Halloween inflatable on someone's front lawn. I was driving along one evening just after dark, when there, high on a hilltop, sat the largest inflatable pumpkin I had ever seen. I slowed down. My head turned.
I didn't swerve. I didn't hit a tree. I didn't plow into a crowd of pedestrians. But I did admire it. It was bright. It was stunning. It was unique. It was the embodiment of Halloween. I had not seen its like before.
Then, suddenly, I saw its like everywhere.
The unique has become ubiquitous.