Castaween: Spain’s Take on Halloween

Back home, Halloween is basically a neighborhood event. Porches get covered in fake webs, someone drags out a giant skeleton, and there’s always a bowl of fun-size candy by the door. Kids run around until their costumes are crooked, then dump everything on the living-room floor to trade. U.S. brands play right into that: big candy promos, costume collabs, limited-time drops, and social posts made to be screenshotted. It’s built for Gen Z to post all night.

In Spain, October 31 is there, but it has to share. Halloween sits right next to La Castanyada, which rolls into All Saints’ Day on November 1. That’s why people call it “Castaween”—it’s not just spooky season, it’s spooky season plus a local fall tradition. Because of that, the tone is different. You can’t just pump out horror content; you have to balance “night out in costume” with “family, food, and remembering people.” Spanish campaigns have to do both.

Image source: Aspasios (aspasios.com), “Enjoy autumn and the tradition of La Castanyada in Barcelona.”

La Castanyada is the cozy part of the week. You smell castañas roasting on street corners, bakeries fill their windows with panellets (those little almond cakes with pine nuts), and you even see roasted sweet potatoes. Families spend time together and visit cemeteries, so the days around November 1 are softer. That’s where brands in Spain shift tactics—less giant candy bags, more seasonal treats, bakery tie-ins, and content that feels local.

But Halloween itself is growing. Stores sell costumes, bars and clubs do themed nights, and by late evening the metro is full of people in fake blood and good makeup. Spain’s Halloween style leans classic scary—witches, skeletons, zombies, vampires—especially for the late-night crowd. That makes it easy for beauty brands, clubs, and nightlife spots to market to Gen Z: dark looks, photo corners, “tag us” stories, all timed for after 10 p.m.

Kids do trick-or-treat here too. It’s just smaller. In neighborhoods with lots of families or international schools, buildings organize door-to-door inside, or a street will do a little route where shops hand out candy. You still hear “truco o trato,” and kids still end up sticky and happy. The difference is scale: in the U.S., brands flood whole suburbs; in Spain, it’s more in-store displays, bakeries, and group chats that tell you which street is doing it.

The food is where you really see the split. American Halloween tastes like fun-size chocolate. Spanish October tastes like street chestnuts and bakery panellets. You can still buy candy—it’s just not the star. And honestly, walking home with a warm cone of castañas while people in vampire capes walk past you feels very “Spain in fall,” and Gen Z will post that just as fast as a candy haul.

Decor follows the cities. American houses can turn their whole yard into a haunted scene. Spanish apartments don’t have that, so the decorations move to windows, bars, schools, and shops. You still see pumpkins and bats, just tucked into balconies instead of lawns.

Costumes match that pattern too. In the U.S., anything goes—pop culture, funny, cute, scary, memeable. In Spain, people usually pick the horror staples. Friends plan looks together, stay out late, and the makeup actually looks good. So the brands that show up are the ones that fit that lane—clubs, makeup, transport, late-night food. In the U.S., it’s wider: streaming, fast fashion, snacks, even sports jump in.

Then November 1 shows up and everything slows down. People visit cemeteries, eat with family, and the party vibe drops. That quiet day kind of wraps the whole week and reminds you this is still tied to a real tradition. Good marketing here respects that—loud for Halloween night, soft the next day.

So, big picture: same date, different settings. The U.S. goes big—kids first, parties after, candy everywhere, tons of content. Spain mixes Halloween with La Castanyada—family, fall food, then a late-night costume wave. Kids still dress up. People still go out. It just happens in smaller routes and city spaces, not long suburban streets.

Personally, I like this version. You can wear a vampire cape, ride the metro with three witches, eat warm chestnuts on the way home, and wake up to a quiet November 1. That’s Castaween—and it says a lot about how culture, Gen Z, and brands all adjust to place.