Girls making poor decisions

Last month I participated in College’s Greatest Weekend, otherwise know as the Little 500 at Indiana University. While out and about, we noticed a horrifying trend on the sorostitutes parading around town: neon-colored over-sized ’80s style tee-shirts over (of course) black tights, similarly neon-colored nylon baseball caps, and–I kid you fucking not–FANNY PACKS. This seemed to be a new low from the sheep who have brought us such fashion fads as Ugg boots, tights as pants, unwashed hair in giant topknots, and, well, generally looking like a homeless prostitute.*

College’s Greatest Weekend for making bad decisions

This made me wonder, how do you make such hideous fashion choices? How do you walk past a mirror and not gag a little bit? Surely it must be a conscious decision to look so terrible–at least conscious on the part of the first few girls who did it, and then of course no further thought is required for the rest of them. Thank goodness. If they all thought for themselves I shudder to imagine what cavalcade of catastrophes would be defacing the streets of the beautiful city in which I live.

The claaawww chooses who will stay and who will go.

So here’s how I imagine it goes: You wake up one morning a sorority girl (like, OMG YAY!!1!). You stare into your closet, trying to decide what to wear. You systematically go through your best features, and pointedly choose to hide them. You similarly take note of the features you are less proud of, and decide to enunciate them. For instance:

I am a young woman living in a post-post-modern world.

Therefore, I will wear hideous clothes from that one decade my AI’s talk about where people made the worst possible style choices ever: the 1980s!

I fear these douche bags had something to do with it. I will tell you this is from a video about Little 5, but I am not linking to it. We can’t encourage this kind of idiocy.

Gross. I just threw up in my mouth a little. Moving on.

I have a shape!

Therefore, I shall hide this shape under a really long, unstructured shirt. I will look like a flat box, like the one my daddy sent me with my iPad. Unless I am putting on the Keystone pounds, in which case I will look like the box my daddy sent me with my refrigerator.

There are no sadder models on earth than Urban Outfitters models. Even when your shirt is smiling.

Great. What about my lower half?

Oh no! Problem area for most normal human females! (Also problem area for certain feline females who shall not be named. Pixel.)

Should I try wearing something that minimizes my sizeable downtown assets? Certainly not! I shall wear something so thin it’s hardly worth mentioning. It should be real stretchy too, so you can see every ripple, bulge, and possibly even my lady lips. That’ll keep the boys guessing.

Tights. Are not. Pants.

Almost there! I’m super duper excited about what’s happening right now.

OMG, is that why they call them feet?

I will therefore put them in goofy elephant foot-shaped fleece like my Nana wears in the old folks’ home.

No wait, Alasynne told me that is sooo last year. Let’s wrap them in an Ace bandage condom so that everyone will know about my total for reals concern about like poor people without feet and junk.

Awesome. Outfit disaster achieved. I look like total crap. Let’s go lick the underside of the bar at Sports! But wait, I totally need somewhere to put my fake ID. Since I didn’t go for the cargo tights, and I’m not wearing a bra…I know! FANNY PACK.

That Nike one on right is legit from the ’80s. Too legit to quit, in fact.

Seriously, ladies? Seriously? How is this a rational decision? Is it a dare? Were you drunk-dressing? I fear, fellow upright citizens, that we are one slippery “Oh this is totally funny and hot” away from Cap-sacs. The Fannypack for your head. No really.

(Although this looks like a great way to get your cardio in while simultaneously drying your dog after a bath.)

Now, I’m not saying all trends are dumb, and I certainly have worn long tunic-y shirts myself, and neon outfits and fanny packs when I was 6, like, at the end of the ’80s. I just implore you to take a look in the mirror, take a drink of water to clear your Natty Ice hangover, wipe the smeared mascara away from your eyes, scratch the crust of vomit out of your hair, and ask yourself, “Is this really the image I want to present to the world today?” And if it is, then carry on. The world will label you as the kind of girl you can buy for a cigarette butt floating in half a bottle of Skoal to take you for a real good 18 minutes in the dumpster behind Denny’s off of Business Highway 37.

*Sorry for any sorority girls who do not subscribe to these fads and who might actually be contributing members of society. Please tell your sisters to MAKE BETTER DECISIONS.