Hi there – yeah.. you. No, I understand that you can see your reflection in your blackberry/computer screen/cellphone, but I need you to look at me, just for a brief moment. Ok.. annnnd focus.
I know that you’re new to higher education, I know that with all your friends here, that this just feels like a high school with a pub. I know. It’s an awful lot of fun having to decipher course codes, waiting in line with your parents at the bookstore and calculating how much you can sell those puppies back for at the end of the semester. But I just wanted to give you some advice.
Sometime soon, in the near future, you’re going to be really busy. Maybe. (Unless you’re in supply chain management. Then go buck wild.) And then, that fantasmagorical weave/triple barrel/straight ironed wonder on your head may have to..no, will have to… fall by the wayside. This isn’t just a style critique (hell, I love big hair as much as the next person) so much as a time management one. If you really do need that Venti Starbucks that appears to be permanently fused to your spindly hand, and can’t possibly stay awake all class (yes, I see you sleeping on your keyboard) I would suggest perhaps forgoing the hour long hairathon and opting for the ever classic ponytail.
I understand that you and all your cronies really reallylike to imagine that you’re some Northern Albertan miasmatic Mary Kate Montana, and this may be as hard to hear as it is to blend your two toned foundation into your chin line.. but let it go. To be honest, save the mediocre hockey players on our campus team, nobody is interested. Honestly, we’d all just rather the bathroom sinks weren’t clogged with glitter and BonnyBell remnants, like some strange skanky jellyfish.
While we’re at it, tights are not pants, and while I appreciate that with recent rashes of school violence you may feel the need to dress in all black spandex like a fashion ninja Kurasawasita, please. You look like a faded black crayon smuggling muffins. The only way I can distinguish between you and “Darkest Black” is the enormous purse you’re carrying. And the smaller one on top of that. I know it may seem counter intuitive, but there is this crazy secret that I discovered post hernia – backpacks are the shit. They are like purses for your back. Plus, they save you from knocking people in the head with your monstrous carry-all (that I can only assume contains both the blood of innocents and Facebook: The Hard Copy) as you attempt to wedge by them in the close quarters that is “the classroom”.
Haven’t been there yet? It’s ok. When you stop drinking SourPuss and move on to something other form of sustenance than alcohpops, you may want to redeem some of that tuition in this strange and mysterious locale. Given, you’ll also have to log off of Facebook while you’re there. I know. While it may be nerve wracking to think that somebody left an emoticon laced comment about “How gr8t u look!” on your high school grad pictures while you were logged off, rest assured, it will be there when you log on an hour later. What won’t be there, however, is your entire savings gifted by daddy if you keep logging onto your banking in front of me. May I suggest choosing something other than your boyfriends name for your password?
I can see your eyes glazing over, so I’ll let you go. While this advice has taken less time to dispense than you take to spackle your face like the crumbling facade of Venice.. I assure you, it is wise to heed. Lest I pull your weave out and make you drink whisky. I’m like that. I will go renegade academic on your spandexed ass.