As we have just returned from Fall Break and many of you probably went somewhere that made you realize that you suck more than an indebted cokehead and Pure Filth Productions’ entire team of fluffers combined, let me remind you for the second time in two years that you, the students of Wesleyan, collectively look worse than a group of Louisiana foster children. However, if you didn’t go home or to any city on the east coast, I feel confident in saying that you visited a good friend from home at his/her (not hir because nobody was really sure or vocal about his/her anti-sexuality in high school) big state school where you probably felt and were as out of place as a bussed-in, inner city tour group being led through WestCo, or anywhere on campus, for that matter.
I know that I’ve positively referred to the freshman class as a group of 7s, but they too are guilty of growing complacent and homely as sweatpants (not a group of students) come out of the closet, and winter weight begins to pile on.
If you’re a mental paraplegic or a jock fundamentalist and are somehow able to form my words into sentences, you’ve probably noticed that I’m not the happiest buckaroo here at Camp Wesleyan. Aside from having been on campus for seven weeks and there not being a single Wespeak responding to my arrogant gospel, the leaves are turning brown, and shortly the sky will be gray; and as I possess the foresight that I will get ugly in the winter, I’m California dreaming.
The air has grown cooler and the New England autumn asks for corduroy, cashmere and destroyed denim to go along with a coveted pair of loafers, but khaki cargos appear instead. Students seem to have discovered a time machine to transport them to an era when Old Navy products were readily accessible from the thrift store on Route 66. I know that not looking like crap can be costly, but those of you who are on budgets could easily take advantage of any TJ Maxx, Daffy’s or communal laundry room.
I legitimately understand the possibility that some (on account of finances or genetics) can’t help being sloppy, but I believe that predominantly poor appearances are more a matter of indifference and thinking that personal image is trivial. Imagine going to a job interview dressed like you just spent three hours watching a mini-marathon of “Land of the Lost,” and what kind of menacing looks you would receive.
“But I’m not at a job interview, I’m at college.” That being said, you never know who’s going to wind up where in the next five years and you don’t know whose daddy does what. You don’t want to be remembered as the person who wore the same booger-covered sweatshirt every day of the week. Michael Bay, one of the most (if not the most) established Wesleyan Alums (yes, even more than the Management), wouldn’t give that mess the time of day in the real world, where cash is king, fake tits are fun and genuine personalities are for peasants.
Before break, Bay returned to campus—riding his private jet and three models for five hours—to screen his personal copy of Transformers and cut a $320,000 check to the Film Studies Department. Some pathetically clad students asked inane questions while even more exhibited why Wesleyan is dropping in college rankings. Sure, status and appearance aren’t that big of a deal if you want to make films and pennies, but if you want to make major motion pictures and more millions of dollars than you have illegally downloaded songs, I suggest you take a look in the mirror and clean yourself up.
I might legitimately admire Michael Bay, or maybe I incorporated him into this week’s article hoping that Jeanine Basinger will send him a clipping (or a telegram). And, hopefully, there’s a chance that he might take a break from being awesome, give me a call, and give me a job so that I, too, might upgrade myself, my wardrobe, and my quality of life—allowing me to replace my Mercedes from eBay with a Ferrari and model girlfriend from Italy, or a Cadillac and a crackwhore from Detroit.
But when someone on campus asks me why I’m dressed like I’m “going somewhere,” it’s because I plan to; in the meantime, I’m trying to stand out from my mediocre surroundings.
And when I see that the University homepage still reads “Wesleyan students show their style” (referring to the New York Times Magazine article), I can’t help but shake my head at the spurious statement. When the Times crew and photographer arrived to find a motley crop of freshman, they probably ordered the students to take off their sweatpants and crocs and throw on a $2500 pashmina scarf over the key-bearing lanyard.
Whenever people dress for a special occasion, fun is usually had. Recently there have been a DKE formal, a Beta 80s Party, several Eclectic events, a party in my pants (which didn’t require a dress code) and a Cocktails and Crackers party (not the country club scene that you might be thinking of). Even the track and cross-country teams have been dressing up for their nightly fiestas on the third floor of Olin. And after many of these themed or dress-up parties there have been complaints regarding itchy vaginas throughout the ACB. If these anonymous cries for divine wisdom and/or veteran advice aren’t enough of an indicator that Wesleyan students had a jolly good time, I don’t know what would be.
And, in the same vein of sticking out and talking about past events, I can’t not mention the shooting that occurred among LoRise residents’ next-door neighbors. If you would like to avoid getting mixed up in, or mistaken for someone who should be involved in, a Middletown shootout, just dress up.
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