January 24, 2001: On the Campus

You are what you wear
A senior ponders the existential questions raised by her wardrobe

By Emily Johnson '01

Another J. Crew package arrives for me. I know the mail guy has labeled me as a preppie clothes horse. I can’t meet his eye. I mumble thanks, snatch my box, and dash off with my matte tricot T-shirt bra.

Oh dear, this is getting serious. I know two clerks at the Nassau Street Ann Taylor store by first name. I have a Banana Republic credit card. I know this season’s colors. I buy only matching underwear.

“Come back to the dark side!” says my jeans-loving roommate from last year.
I have my excuses. My current roommates dress up daily, I plead. They wear skirts. Make-up. Hose. Boots. I don’t want to be known as the sloppy one.

I call my new wardrobe the consulting wardrobe. I kind of like it. My practical mom always made me buy washable fabrics, but I’ve discovered that silk is pretty nice. And cashmere -- oooooooh. Even my mom admires my J. Crew knee-length, cashmere/wool blend coat. With Thinsulate.

I have reservations, though. In the old days of cotton, thrift stores, and comfortable shoes, I wore my all-purpose business casual outfit (unwrinkle-able pants and starched pink shirt, both from Target) to a Mercer Consulting presentation at the Nassau Inn. The place was crawling with suited recruiters. They intimidated me so much that I left before one of them could speak to me, which is probably not the way to get a job.

But as I dress more and more like a McKinsey employee, I wonder if these new clothes will take me back to the Nassau Inn, to Prospect House, to interviews in fashionable New York. Will I put my $600 wardrobe to good use? Will I have the money to add to my growing collection of must-have tartan skirts? Is my newfound and expensive love enough to push me toward a high-paying job? I had envisioned spending next year in Guatemala helping the Franciscans. Or at a Philadelphia soup kitchen. Or even at a small, underfunded, understaffed magazine. “Well,” says my mom, “We can always store your clothes for you.” Thanks.

To clarify how confusing all this is to me, I should tell you I spent childhood with my socks pulled up to mid-calf, despite my sister’s desperate attempts to clue me in. My sister is now an ecology Ph.D. student whose office clothes are jeans and a T-shirt, usually with lizards on it. I used to work at a physics lab where one officemate wore clingy nylon shorts and a T-shirt from Hawaii -- every day. And -- here’s the kicker -- my parents are math professors.

So it’s funny that clothes are deciding my fate. Do I want to wear red silk or faded blue cotton? Do I want to look crisp and sleek or comfortable and approachable? Mercer Consulting or Kibbutz? Edelman Public Relations or Teach for America? Pricewater-houseCoopers or Project 55? Business; business casual; flowing pants; dress-down day; shorts day; power suits; silk; cashmere; reds, blacks; classy; practical; washable; replaceable; comfortable; simple; sweatsocks; Birkenstocks.
My clothes have forced me to a life-changing decision.

I now realize that when you choose a job, you choose a lifestyle. Not only will your wardrobe matter, but also your daily schedule, your friends, where you live, and what you eat. For Princeton students, that lifestyle is a harsh and fairly self-imposed dichotomy: You “sell out” or “save the world.” For many seniors, there is no middle ground, and the choice is a very conscious, conscientious decision.

This leaves me even more confused. What kind of job will I choose? What kind of life? I like being outside. I like knee-high boots. I like sneakers. I like manicures. I feel that every charge on my Banana Republic card draws me closer to the business world. Every well-loved T-shirt in my top dresser drawer whispers, “You and me. Comfort. Getting your hands dirty.”

Sigh. Oh well. I didn’t even get an interview at Boston Consulting Group or Leo Burnett, the first places I applied to, so maybe I won’t have to make this decision at all. Maybe I’ll end up in grad school or as a high school teacher or with the Franciscans after all.
But then I wouldn’t get to wear my new Ann Taylor suit.

Emily’s birthday is February 7th. Banana Republic gift certificates are appreciated.