I Brake for Style

I was driving through campus the other day, when I stopped to let a twenty-something woman in a soft gray blouse and an emerald green mini paired with floral-print slingback peep-toes pass through one of Indiana State's eighty-four thousand crosswalks. It was seriously one of those looks that you should find in one of Cosmo's "looks from the street" articles, one that felt so springy and chic and cute you wanted to erase everything written in your planner for the afternoon so you could speed off to Macy's or Bloomie's and buy something similar in every color possible*, so naturally, I stopped to let her cross the street (AKA so I could admire the artwork that was her outfit).

A few seconds later, I was approaching another crosswalk (there are at least seventeen for every block), when I saw a girl coming closer to the street--a girl in a worn T-shirt, a pair of dirty, nasty sweatpants, and some unmemorable tennis shoes. Needless to say, I didn't stop.

And it wasn't that I consciously thought "Good Lord, who goes in public like that?" or anything--I honestly don't remember having any such specific thoughts at all. It really wasn't until a little later (when, I admit, I was still daydreaming about those floral peep-toes) that I even realized what I had done--and hadn't done. I had stopped to let a cutely-dressed girl walk across the street, but I had sped through the crosswalk when it was someone dressed like crap. And I don't really think it's the first time I've done it.

In short, I'm fashion-ist. Or style-ist. Or prejudiced against style-less people. Whatever you want to call it.

Now, I understand there are those certain situations you absolutely have to run somewhere for a second or two--a quick trip to the creepy gas station down the street for hangover-curing Gatorade or something--and you don't have the time to take off your dirty, nasty, ex-boyfriend's sweatpants** whose waistband is missing the elastic and that you have to hold up like a ballgown so you don't trip over them when you walk and change into something appropriate for wearing in public. But let's be honest here. Does it really take more than two seconds to throw on a pair of jeans? And is there really any situation where such a level of sloppy clothing is appropriate?***

Overall, all I'm saying is that it's easier to be nice to people and to respect people when they're dressed nicely or chicly or with some kind of style--guys, this means you, too. Which really means that it's easier for people to be nice and to respect you when you're dressed to impress.

So the next time you're headed somewhere--a job interview, the grocery store, whatever--maybe, just maybe you should leave those nasty, dirty sweatpants at home and put on some clothes that don't make the neighbors start a petition to declare you a community eyesore.

On second thought, just burn them.







*Not that that was an option for me--the sad excuse of what Terre Haute terms a "mall" would offer nothing even remotely close to the artistic masterpiece this girl had on. It's practically like living in a town with no stores at all. Which I've done. But that's another story.

**I realize this sounds like I'm calling your ex-boyfriend dirty and nasty, but that's not the case. I'm referring to the sweatpants he left at your house one time that are so comfortable and worn-in (obviously guy clothes are more comfy than girl clothes) that you still reach for them whenever you're lounging around. Although, for all of you out there whose ex-boyfriends are also dirty and nasty, I'm clearly referring to them as well. You're welcome.

***Clearly, if you're sleeping or maybe if you're on the way to the gym, your clothing choices aren't quite as important. Or if you've permanently taken up residence on your sofa in front of the TV in said ex-boyfriend's sweatpants while the Lifetime Movie Network spews out daily marathons of anti-male made-for-TV "Lifetime Original Movies," eating your miserable, pitiful feelings about said ex-boyfriend (You know who you are. Stop now.).