Clowning around: bright colored pants are a joke

348 and Maine street: Give it the boot: the Beans are better off without lifetime warranty

Yes, I've been away. Yes, you've missed me, like Tom Cruise misses Katie Holmes. And that’s a lot, because now he has no one to play with in his Scientology dungeon.
And did I miss you all? Well, let's just say I missed you about as much as Katie misses Tom, which is probably more than any of us realize. The steady cash flow that comes with being Tom Cruise's wife is more than sufficient to forget anything that comes up during those pesky dungeon games.
Never underestimate the effects of some good old fashioned Stockholm syndrome: you don't really understand how you got trapped in this strange place, the things you're forced to do seem bizarre at best, but pretty soon things start to seem really fun and you wonder if you've been drugged. Maybe you have, but who cares, it's a party. That's pretty much what coming back to school is like, so even if I didn't miss you, give me a week and I'll never want to leave again.

348 and Maine street: Polartec and puff: woes of Bowdoin’s winter wardrobe

It is tempting, I know, to give up. Between the never-ending snow squall and ever-building mountain of homework begging for your procrastination, I understand the impulse to just throw in the towel, throw on a couple of sweatshirts and give in to false allure of Bean Boots.
Yes, it is a cruel, cold world and it seems like most of each day consists of deciphering parking bans and trying not to disappear into snow banks. Yes, it is a mighty struggle to get out of bed and confront outdoor temperatures that make you question whether this blasted place is even fit for human habitation. And yes, it takes an unsettling amount of time to convince yourself that going to class or having human interaction is more important than staying home in your footie pajamas and binge-watching “House of Cards.” But I implore you, do not give up on getting dressed and looking halfway presentable.
But, I hear you protest, it’s a herculean task just to brave the elements to accomplish the essentials—attending class, getting food and coffee, and going to parties. These, you say, are the bare necessities of the collegiate experience; I can’t possibly be bothered to do any more when the earth is this frigid and I have so much work to do. I don’t have time for basic hygiene, you claim, let alone getting dressed like a self-respecting human being.

348 and Maine street

Clowning around: bright colored pants are a joke

This piece represents the opinion of the author:

Evan Horwitz

Columnist

February 7, 2014

It has come to my attention that we are in dire need of a dressing lesson. I realized we were in trouble because I have eyesight and possess a normal desire to keep my eyes functioning—which is a challenge when confronted with atrocities that make them bleed, like genocide and sequined Uggs. This lesson is called How To Avoid Looking Like a Clown.

Now, to be clear, I have nothing against clowns. In fact, as those who know me well can tell you, I briefly attended clown school. There is great fun to be had in being a clown, but there is a reason I don’t tell many people about my time behind the red nose. With Valentine’s Day upon us, this reason is even more urgent: nobody wants to fuck a clown. Or rather, no one wants to fuck someone who looks like a clown without realizing it. Professional clowns are, as a rule, very sexy and have no shortage of Valentine’s dates. That’s because they know not to take their work home with them.

If you want to look like a clown, and know you look like a clown, and understand the consequences of looking like a clown, I applaud you. You are an eccentric and will die alone. But I suspect that most of the people who I’m talking about have no idea how ridiculous they look and would not like to spend their lives, let alone next Friday, celibate and friendless. But fear not, for I am here to help!

Usually when we talk about people looking like clowns without intending to, we are referring to a gross excess of makeup. If you’ve ever seen Courtney Love or the magnificent Joan Rivers, you know what I’m talking about. Such misadventures in makeup are certainly to be avoided. But if you’ve ever been on a gossip website or read a beauty magazine, you already knew that. And makeup is not the issue here.

In fact, it is the boys who are the greatest offenders in looking like clowns when they think they’re looking suave. The first disturbing trend that lends a Ronald McDonald air to any wearer is brightly colored chinos. What began several years ago for many young men as a deeply upsetting addiction to salmon shorts has now grown into a strange and horrifying obsession with pants of equally nauseating hues. Salmon is still the most popular color, though I have seen mustard yellow, lime green, and lilac making the rounds as well.

It is winter. There is such a thing as seasonal colors. I thought this was common knowledge, but apparently it is not. Bright colors may be worn with caution in the summer months. Darker and subtler shades are better for winter. Black is best and looks good on everyone. So please, your clown pants are best reserved for cocktail parties at the country club, or better yet, never.

Seriously, brightly colored pants will never be attractive. It does not help that they are uniformly the most ill-fitting garment I have ever seen. Pants that are garish and baggy make you look, you guessed it, like a clown. And I am not amused.

The second disturbing trend, which when combined with the first, has been shown to cause vomiting and death in people who have to look at you, is the return of the Cosby Sweater. In case you are completely unaware of the popular culture of the past 25 years, this kind of sweater, worn often by Bill Cosby on his eponymous show, is a shapeless, repulsively patterned thing that suggests there was an explosion at the sweater factory. These sweaters are always ugly and really, really make you look ridiculous. In a very bad way. You look, in fact—all together now—like a clown. An ugly one.

So please, for the sake of your loved ones and the ones you’re trying to get to love you (wink, wink), change your pants, throw away your sweater, and put on something that doesn’t induce seizures. Come next Friday, you’ll thank me. I’ll be the one in the red nose.

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