In my very first column, some three billion decades ago, I talked about (read: I whined and moaned about) the horrible fashion consequences that the incoming Urban Outfitters was going to have on our campus.
Needless to say, my debut piece was not entirely well-received. The main point of contention? It wasn’t that I had a flawed argument or even that my writing was poor.
No, the simple truth is that in my debut article, I may or may not have dropped the f-bomb, oh, a conservative seven times. That’s once every 100 words. Classy.
My deft command of the English language catapulted me to the realm of the ridiculous. Heck, it even got me a famed shout-out in one of Professor Kramnick’s Intro classes, though he was only pointing out that despite my innocent column picture, I had the mouth of a drunken sailor.
But this is a new year and there are new fashion disasters to behold. So I am going to once again attempt to ridicule everything that is unholy about the fashion mistakes I see walking around campus. And I’m going to do my best to clean it up a bit.
First, a philosophical quandary: “If your shorts are so short that your panties hang out, are you even wearing pants at all?”
Now, I’m a pretty easy-going girl. I get that the first few weeks of classes were warm; I appreciate the desire to avoid sweating like a wooly mammoth between classes.
What I do not appreciate, however, is being forced to stare at your womanly bits (front and back) as they dangle out of your Daisy Dukes.
Ladies, you’ve got to keep your shenanigans under control here! I don’t know when the camel toe came back in business, but I sure as h-e-double hockey sticks do not want to see yours staring at me in the face when I’m in class.
Second, I’d really love if someone could explain to me where this recent trend of making your hair look like a Technicolor peacock derived from.
Apparently, those feathers you see girls sporting around campus are actually fishing lures. Now, I’m pretty sure anyone who pays $20 a pop to have a fishing lure super-glued to their scalp did not get into Cornell based on I.Q. and academic promise alone.
As edgy and on-trend as the concept of Ke$ha-like feathers dangling from your locks might seem, think about it this way: your super cool hairstyle is the visual equivalent of hardcore porn for some lonely breed of fish out there.
Finally, I’d like to gender-equalize this article with a brief stab at the less-than-fashionable men on this campus who have decided that giant, fake eyewear is actually a statement piece.
While I understand that the competition to be intellectual is fierce at Cornell, I don’t think shocking pink plastic frames with the lenses popped out are really going to get you there. And don’t try to legitimize your poor fashion choices by arguing that your specs are actually prescription. You still look like a complete and total icehole.
I don’t know which crack-addicted pop star decided that looking like Urkel was the new definition of sex appeal, but that person needs to be shot.
Cornell, frankly I’m confused. We’ve got a pretty smoking hot student body. If you sit on Ho (not a curse word, kids) for 15 minutes, you’ll start to notice something pretty special about our school: for the most part, everyone cares about their appearance.
Now I’m not saying that every student at Cornell is all pretense and snobbery. (That’s really only the Hotel School).
But I am saying that, even if it’s just jeans and a clean t-shirt, we all seem to have
a general appreciation for not looking like complete hobos when we show up to class. Unless you’re trying to make an ironic hipster statement, in which case hobo is kind of your thing.
In a way, dressing well shows a level of respect towards our professors and our fellow
classmates. Sure, there’s always that one kid who relishes in the freedom to wear the same
pair of pajamas to class every single day. But he’s the anomaly, isn’t he?
So really, the business of booty-call shorts and bird hairdos is more of a nitpicking than an actual complaint.
I may never understand how these things get popular. But as some robe-wearing, bearded philosopher much more intelligent than I once said, “Illegitimi non carborundum.” Or in English, “Don’t be confused by … (alright, one curse word) bastards.”
Cristina Stiller is a senior in the College of Arts and Sciences. She may be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org. Believe You Me appears alternate Mondays this semester.