notes from the desk Party themes not worth the effort

Author: Tess Russell

Last weekend, I found myself pregaming in a room with friends who were all bound for different destinations on and off campus. Looking around, I noticed that I was the only person present who was clothed in anything resembling normal going-out attire. I should mention I was wearing over-the-knee dominatrix boots, several weighty strands of fake pearls and - as the final accoutrement to my outfit - imposing satin headgear. (For the last time, it's a turban, NOT a doo-rag.)

You see, while my accessorization was simply a reflection of my personal style (or possibly of my belief that every day marks a new opportunity to pay homage to the iconic Olsen twins), my compatriots had succumbed to an altogether different fate. I'm referring to Middlebury students' seeming obsession with wacky costume parties. No longer content with old standbys like "Golf Pros and Tennis Hoes," we have resorted to concepts like "Contaminated Beach Party" and "Flandex," the latter of which involves wearing your favorite flannel and spandex ensemble. As I overheard someone saying on campus recently, "anything can be a party if you are wearing sunglasses and enough sequins."

While I fully support the desire to get everyone out of their weekday uniforms of sweats and snow boots, I find most of these themes to be at best tiresome and at worst extremely uncomfortable. Twice this year my night has been seriously hindered by a poor choice of wardrobe. The first of these incidents occurred when I put on my Amy Winehouse finest on the Friday after Halloween, a seemingly logical time to dress up. However, because the holiday extended in a diluted fashion for a week on each end, I happened to be the only participant at this particular event - the Ski Patrol raffle. The awarding of prizes was followed by a ski movie screening, which I watched in relative anonymity … or so I thought. At least three-quarters of the way through the presentation, an obviously seething viewer behind me shouted, "Can you please take off your hair?"

After my second misstep - suffice it to say that a dress made entirely out of flimsy newspaper and an overzealous arcing motion on my Beirut shot were involved - I vowed to become the Scrooge of costume parties. Never again would I have to remember why, in a particular Facebook photo, I was sporting thermal leggings under knee-length denim cutoffs with a holey Nirvana t-shirt.

The main problem is that most of us do so much hopping around on the weekends that we never stay anywhere long enough to make it worth the commitment to a single themed look. I have witnessed two popular solutions to this problem. The first is to endure the wrath of the first party's hosts, as I do, knowing that you will have the last laugh when Public Safety breaks it up and all of your friends are stuck at a "Flava Flav" shindig in their neon ski parkas. Alternatively, you can devise an outfit just unidentifiably weird enough that it allows you to blend in at any gathering. Nehru jacket? Glow bracelets? Weird sunglasses? Old fashioned cigarette holder? Just pile it all on.

Still, as far as I'm concerned, we need a new approach. In fact, I've got a great party idea. I'm going to call it: "Wear something slightly nicer than your school dress and perhaps put a little more effort than usual into your hair." Yes, the name lacks a certain punch, but we would all look more attractive to each other - face it, unless it's a lingerie party everyone looks best in their normal clothes - and perhaps we'll be that much more willing to get decked out when a legitimately good reason comes along.

Note: toga parties are automatically excused from the criticism above, by virtue of being awesome and totally classic.

Tess Russell '10 is a Features editor from Baltimore, Md.