Whale tails left and right. Cleavage front and center. Boxer-briefs everywhere I look. These are just three reasons why Cornell should adopt a uniform policy. Or, at the very least, a dress code.
My friend Zoë is always impeccably dressed. Each morning, it is as if she has a stylist put together the most weather-appropriate, perfectly coordinated ensemble, from her carefully selected jewelry right down to her choice of footwear. Often, clad in rain-soaked ballet flats, I can only stare with jealousy at Zoë’s cozy wellies. On days when my hair looks like the before-picture on What Not to Wear, Zoë’s is inevitably pulled back with an flawlessly coordinated headband.