Dress for success, or at least for public viewing

There is a sort of wardrobe malfunction whose source is more pernicious than any badly sewn seam or possibly the fumbling fingers of Justin Timberlake.

I am speaking of course of people’s tendency to arrive woefully underdressed for nearly every occasion.

If you don’t know what I’m talking about, look around the average class at CSC. How many people in attendance are wearing pajamas? Further, how many people will still be wearing pajamas at your 3 p.m. class.

Worse than the mere sight of frumpy-cute ducky pajamas in the afternoon—footy pajamas no less—is when a certain news editor wears his girlfriend’s pajama bottoms to a meeting just because it is at 8 a.m. on a Monday morning. The situation may beg the question, “is he wearing her underwear as well?,” but that’s a topic far too kinky for this student newspaper.

All joking aside, attending college is a serious responsibility. Showing up to class looking like you just rolled out of bed makes a mockery out of the class and says you don’t respect your peers, professors, or yourself.

Despite what this example might indicate, the problem is not limited to college students’ in-class attire. At this point who out there hasn’t see PeopleofWalmart.com?

It seems that as a nation we are utterly failing to dress appropriately for the situation.

Sure, all of us run into situations when we need something right away and don’t have time to get dressed to the nines to run out to Walmart for duct tape.

It’s apparent when publicly appearing in a shabby outfit is a once-off deal and when it’s a daily life choice—the latter is the essence of the People of Walmart Web site.

It’s proof the collective brain malfunction causing anyone to think it’s okay to wear a skin-tight pink leopard print onesie has reached pandemic proportions.

My opinion in this regard might seem skewed, especially with the Internet as a near-endless source of ridiculous clothing styles that would make even Lady Gaga’s head spin.

As I sat writing this column, a friend on Facebook posted a link to “thong jeans” on another friend’s wall. If you’ve ever winced at the unsightly “whale tale” situation that occurs all too often when ladies wear a thong with low rise jeans, then you can imagine what “thong jeans” look like.

The difference here is that the “whale tale” look is a permanent built-in part of the jeans. Rather than having a regular waistband, they boast large gaps with ties at the hips giving the overall look of a denim thong sticking way out of jeans, leaving little to the imagination.

Such clothing is so obscene it ventures into the realm of irony. As in “Don’t worry Dad, I’m just wearing this ironically.” Hopefully, the friend posted the link as a joke and not a secret fashion desire.

If you want a stuffy real world example, let’s take my last visit to the symphony. While classical music is not everybody’s cup of tea, attending a symphony performance is a time-honored tradition dating back to the 16th century.

If you are going to a performance that isn’t happening in a middle school auditorium, it’s generally accepted that at least business casual dress should be worn.

“Attending a concert at Symphony Center is always a special occasion; therefore, most patrons enjoy dressing up a bit. Today’s standards for business formal dress or business casual dress are both acceptable for concerts at Orchestra Hall. Jeans, shorts, and t-shirts are discouraged,” the Chicago Symphony Orchestra’s Web site states.

Despite this rather gentle suggestion, when I last attended the symphony—just before moving to Chadron in spring 2008—several of the attendees seated around me were wearing shorts, dirty T-shirts, and flip-flops. They also applauded between movements, which if you don’t know, is basically the eighth deadly sin.

And yes, this example is incredibly high-brow and stuffy, but the situation only reiterates what I mentioned earlier about respecting one’s peers and their enjoyment of the event you are mutually attending. You don’t want to see Billy-Bob’s fungal-yellow toenails while listening to Stravinsky’s “Rite of Spring.” It’s likely that few in your 8 a.m. calculus class want to see your Hello Kitty jammies. I’m speaking to the guys here, who are just as guilty as the ladies. Gentlemen, keep your shirts on, along with the rest of your attire.

Obviously, we don’t attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry where professors and students alike are required to wear robes every day. Wait, that’s Oxford in the 19th century—I always confuse those two. But neither do we attend Skidmore College, the clothing-optional school in upstate New York.

Let’s strive to maintain a minimum level of appropriateness. If you can’t dress for success, at least dress for public viewing.