Senior Staffer Levi Cohen takes stock of his cottons, wools, and linens.
My Hot Professor will know.
I know that he’ll know. And he’ll know that I know that he’ll know. And I’ll know that he’ll know that I’ll know that he’ll know. He’ll know that I’m running out of unique sweaters to wear, and that I’ll have to start repeating them soon. Yes, he’ll know my deep sartorial shame.
I have lots of sweaters. I thought I had enough. Enough for my looks to be subtly different yet cohesive across each class— to build a brand of the self, as it were, while still remaining true to the primary principle of fashion in college (that is, comfort). And most importantly, for me to look suitably collegiate to my Hot Professor whilst not making myself seem too young. That, some might say, is paramount.
At this point in the semester, it seems, I’ve worn every sweater I keep stored in my BPA-free plastic containers from Bed, Bath, & Beyond under my bed. We’re moving past cohesion into repetition. My reputation is at stake. No longer will classmates (and my Hot Professor) say to me, “Cute sweater!” or think to themselves, “That’s a cute sweater.” Now I will be greeted with looks of disdain. Shame, thy name is sweater. My scarlet letter will be apparent for all to see.
Indeed, this factor (and this factor alone) will be the reason my Hot Professor and I don’t get together at the end of the semester. It won’t be because of the myriad ethical issues concerning teacher-student relationships, or because of a genuine lack of mutual attraction, or anything as silly and unimportant as that. It’ll be solely because of my failure to procure enough sweaters to keep things visually interesting.
I guess I’ll just wear a chunky knit and cry myself to sleep.
Knit-tastic via Pexels