While spending my semester abroad in Valencia, Spain, I found that the University became my golden haven, representing all that is good and pure in the world. This was especially true when, on a Monday morning, my friends decided tequila shots would be a good idea.
"Alex, I can't believe you're going home -- it's only 6 a.m.! There's still the after-after club and you don't have class until noon!"
"But at U.Va., I'd be asleep by now. So I'm still cool ... Right?"
I would also think of home as I surveyed the slim pickings at a night club.
"Look Alex, he's practically a Spanish prince. His father owns the Döner Kebab stand on the corner!"
"But he smells, and his hair is gelled. I miss seersucker."
My semester abroad was followed by an internship at one of those snobby fashion magazines where I've always dreamed of working. This was an interesting experience because I usually keep my shallow critiques of people's wardrobes in my head. Now I was working in an office where an entire staff critiqued people's wardrobes for a living.
A typical task at my internship went something like this:
"Could you find us some rodeo cowboys for a photo shoot? They should be attractive, but rugged and in the L.A. area during 'Rodeo Christmas' in Las Vegas."
"Oh yeah, absolutely, I'm Super Intern, no worries."
Cue to five minutes later...
"I saw George's Web site and he seems to be exactly what we're looking for. How old is he?"
"43."
"Never mind. Do you have anyone in the 30-35 range who would look good in designer chaps?"
I questioned my career choice on a daily basis.
My internship was not all fluff, however. I also learned a few important lessons about "being yourself." My co-workers dressed very well, with the exception of the finance people on the other side of the office. High heels and designer mini-dresses were de rigeur. So, in an effort to fit in and finally be taller than those fashionable Amazons, one day I decided to wear my sweet Zara platforms. Alas, it all went terribly awry when I wiped out in the cafeteria, managing to simultaneously pull a "Devil Wears Prada" and fracture my knee cap. After that I wore flats and decided to not endanger my life in the name of style.
After working at an office where people would scream -- without a sense of irony -- "Liquid eyeliner is so the new makeup staple," I was ready to come back to U.Va. It is a little weird coming back as a fourth-year student, though, and not only because I've been MIA for the past several months.
For one thing, I actually know a couple of those overachievers on the Lawn who have managed to cure childhood diabetes, become the president of three student organizations and get a 3.9 while I was trying to... Yeah, I have no idea what I've been doing for the past three years.
Nightlife has lost some of its charm now that my friends and I can legally imbibe. Somehow the bars on the Corner just aren't as exciting when there's no threat from the police. I also found the loss of O'Neill's rather sad and the unnerving change of Jaberwoke to 'Three' is something I'd rather not get into. (Same with ordering a drink that for some reason is called "Two.")
The moral of this rambling and not particularly unified column? Well, beside the fact that you should not wear high heels if you're half as clumsy as I am, I'm afraid you're just going to have to wait until next time to get my true words of wisdom. Sorry. I will leave you with a few teasers, however.
Boys: Cargo shorts = very, very bad. Ditto for excessive facial hair.
Girls: You don't have to wear a preppy uniform. I may forever love seersucker, but seeing so many Polo/Rainbows/Vineyard Vines combos the first day back made me slightly nauseous. Finally, first-year students: Please, please stop wearing those heinous football T-shirts on non-game days. Please.
Stay tuned.
Alex is a Cavalier Daily Life columnist. Her column runs biweekly on Thursday. She can be reached at jospin@cavalierdaily.com
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