Valentine’s Day just passed and like many of you, I got no butt. It may have been a result of my shallow personality, or my temporary vow of celibacy. Regardless, I know that my walking home cold and alone wasn’t a result of my appearance—however, I can’t say the same for the rest of you losers.
I’m not going to be a strange bird and blog about people’s style or lack thereof, taking pictures of fashion in action as if I were working for a tardfuck tabloid, treating High Street like Sunset Boulevard—but I would like to address the issue of personal appearance on campus. I’m aware that I could vent through the Wesleyan livejournal site, but I think anonymity is for pussies, and I don’t think my preaching is in the same vein as cutting, purging, or chowing mitt in the CFA (not Center for the Aberrant). I could also approach people individually, but that would be rude. Instead, I’ll just tell you—in size 12 Times New Roman—to dress better.
Wesleyan’s losing its rich tradition is mostly attributed to many students joining the circus upon graduation, and like the NBA All-Stars in the deep end of a pool, struggling to survive. But for the sake of my argument, I think this loss of tradition is a result of the way you present yourselves. A lot of you look like shit. “Don’t judge a book by its cover,” you might say. Well I got news for you, I don’t read.
Stop being comfortable. Don’t view those sweatpants as a safe way to cover your chub. Use them as motivation: you’re sick of looking like you’ve escaped from the asylum across the mighty Connecticut River and want to comfortably fit into your sane-person clothes. Unless you’re a senile old woman pushing a shopping cart of plastic bags, there’s no excuse for wearing sweatpants in public.
What are you laughing at, occasional sweat-pant/shirt wearer? Your wearing your favorite hoodie along with a pair of cargo pants is far from sweet, dude. I’ve heard you say that you would dress better, that you would make an effort if you went to Arizona State or UCBC (Babe City), but that’s no excuse. You should want to promenade around this campus looking like the million bucks you’re going to make in your third year out, not wearing the hooded sweatshirt of the Ivy League college you didn’t get into. You don’t have to dress for success, but you shouldn’t look like you’re straight off the set of “Dawson’s Creek.”
If you’re a skinny dude whose goal is to appear as nonconformist and/or androgynous as possible, you’re probably aware that you intimidate your professors and disrupt the classroom dynamic. However, while your penis protrudes through your Levi’s petites and your blouse hangs off your shoulder like an unchaste 1984 Madonna, you’re frightening the naïve freshmen. And depending on how much they hate their parents, these fresh, but pimply faces will either disregard your bohemian buffoonery, or they’ll ask you where one can purchase such rebellious, awkwardly fitting garb. I see folks from the admissions office walking around campus: “What happened to this guy? When I interviewed him three years ago he was wearing khakis and topsiders. Now he’s in a leotard and high tops, prancing around campus like he’s Jack Dawson in ‘Titanic,’ living a dream.”
Get a haircut. I’ve been there before bro, expressing my angst. It’s a lot better now that I no longer look like a rebellious teenager. If you are a teenager and experimenting with rebellion, grow up.
If you live in Northern California or New York City, please don’t wear T-shirts reading “NorCal” or “New York City.” You don’t see me wearing a T-shirt reading “New Ro,” or someone from Maine with one reading “Wasteland.” In addition to being incredibly tacky, these T-shirts make for awkward interactions. If you’re wearing one of these T-shirts and I ask you where you’re from, and you look down and say, “NorCal. Duh,” I’m going to feel like an idiot. If you’re going to wear a shirt like that, why not sew a symbol of your faith and/or sexuality on your right sleeve…as long as we’re labeling.
There’s a time and a place for Nantucky Reds and boat shoes. However, Middletown and February are neither. No matter how badly you want to be back at prep school, or visiting friends at Georgetown, you’re a long way from the country club.
Don’t give me that hogwash about not being able to spend $300 on a nice pair of Italian leather shoes. If you can sleep while spending $40,000 per year on education, you can splurge on a nice pair of loafers. If you’re on financial aid and not paying full price, then you probably have some extra cash lying around—so why not blow it on some high fashion footwear?
Ladies, what can I say? If you choose to deny yourself your God-given beauty by trying to look like a six-year-old boy, at least complete the role. The baggy jeans and the occasional OshKosh B’Gosh item are great, but trade in that pair of Chuck Taylor’s for some Velcro’s… because not many toddlers with penises can loop, swoop, and pull.
If you have a vagina and aren’t making your parents (as) crazy, trade in that pantsuit for a pushup bra. For once I would like to go to a party and feel like a pedophile at a crowded petting zoo—like I’m going to take someone home.
I encourage nonviolent protest in response to my arrogance—but remember, a hunger strike is only for the true fashionistas.
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