Author: Melissa Marshall
As I participated in the debauchery of the annual VACA Halloween party - which ended in an arrest rather than at 11 p.m. last year (you decide your preference) - the immortal words of Tina Fey rang in my ears along with the infectious techno-pop. "Halloween is the one night a year when girls can dress like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it."
The line from "Mean Girls" became an instant classic the moment it passed Lindsay Lohan's lips. And while I personally promote the showcase of skin - as long as it's tasteful, of course - it's interesting to observe how our demeanor shifts with a switch of outfits. As fairies we are flirtatious, as pirates we are playfully provocative, as witches we are willfully wanton. Protected by painted faces, artful masks and wings from Neat Repeats, reserved girls from my lectures were shaking it Shakira-style by the DJ booth. Does this sexual freedom stem from the safety of a created persona, the darkness of the Johnson dance floor or the poignant pheromones of the huddled masses searching for freedom from the stress of the week? Maybe the answer is as simple as the influence of Pabst Blue Ribbon.
Still, this change of attitude with clothing is not just limited to Hallow's Eve or sketchy dance parties - whether we like it or not, we are scrutinized and classified by our style on a day by day basis. Sitting in Atwater during Saturday dinner, my friend remarked that the people were particularly well-dressed this weekend. And staring around at the two-button blazers and fitted jeans, I replied that they were most likely alums - the air of business casual spoke of Boston 9 to 5. Just as all of us are not bound for Wall Street, not all of us will abandon our sweats, skinny jeans or cowboy boots, but the abundance of tweed on campus this weekend boded of the pressing expectation to be perceived as professional and grown-up. And it's funny that a degree isn't enough - our sweaters need to prove it too.
Melissa Marshall '09 is an Arts editor from Newark, Del.
notes from the desk Midd-women turn into Shakira
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