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In This Issue

• How to Hold on to Your Honey
• Gerald Jackson is Simply Fabulous
• Kid Gets 'F' for 'Fat' on Report Card
• Letters to the Editor(s)
• Glam Faux Pas on College Walk
• Cap'n Crunch = Pervert
• Frugal Gourmet goes Glam; Glitter is Cheap
• Screw the Superbowl! The World is Next!
• 50 Mindblowing Tips for Pleasing your She-male
• Necessary Knowledge for Proper Tape-Mixing
• Gone Society Whorin'
• There is No Message
• GLAM! Makeovers by the Fed Fashionista
• Whoroscopes for the Broken-Hearted
• Disturbing Lack of Glam on Campus
• Newsbriefs
• Prince reveals all, pulls pants back up

There's a clothing brand called Wet Seal that markets to a demographic of 11-25 year old (but forever 16!) females. Their ads feature underdeveloped 17 year olds frolicking carelessly in wedge-heeled thong sandals and flowery head kerchiefs. "Life's a blur. Focus on Fashion" is their motto. Apparently here at Columbia, many students have taken this slogan to heart. That is why every day when I saunter (oh yes, I saunter) down College Walk, I have the unmatched privilege of seeing the meticulously selected, carefully coordinated, and sometimes painstakingly vandalized or torn clothing that people attempt to pass for fashion. Here's a loving spoonful of the worst offenses.

1. The Burberry Plaid

Who decided that slapping a fake Burberry plaid on everything from scarves to unmentionables (titter!) makes you look classy? Really, we all know who bought their stupid handbag from the guy that sells lighters down on Canal Street. You know, those real classy lighters, the ones where you press one titty and the flame comes out of the other one. And if you did pay full price for that handbag at Burberry's, then DAMN! For the price of that bag you could've bought and enjoyed hundreds of titty lighters! Did someone say "stocking stuffer"?

2. The Pointy Elf Shoes/Boots

Or do they prefer to be called "little people shoes?" Whatever. Those heinous pointy boots that extend at least 6 inches past the tip of your big toe could poke an eye out, not to mention cause puncture wounds when, at 3 am on a Friday, that drunk New School kid on the subway trips and lands on one. But there are probably some gauze and bandages in that big ‘ol Burberry shoulder bag, right? Or at least some maxipads.

3. Stupid Punk Gear

That's right. I don't care how long those Converse Allstars can last, when that kid next to me in lecture doodles on his smelly-ass pair, it really doesn't turn me on. Nor does anything about him in the slightest remind me of Joey Ramone, Billy Idol, Johnny Rotten, or any of the other atonal but important punk rockers that he probably has posters of hanging above the on his side of the room in his Wien double. Gabba gabba take off that pointy belt and shower for the love of God. [Editor's note: It is not possible to attend college at $35,000 per year and be a punk.]

4. The Bidniz School Geezers

OK. I know this is neither a fashion statement nor a conscious choice on their part, but why do I have wade through a sea of balding 32-year-old business school students every time I walk past Uris? Shouldn't all the Uris folks already have jobs at Morgan Stanley and be in the Hamptons drinking Hennessy on Thursday night, instead of playing a pathetic game of drunken darts at the West End? Really, people. The next time I walk past a couple of you folks at 2 pm on a Tuesday and catch the phrase, "Come on, I'll buy ya' a Jack and Coke," accompanied by a hearty back-slap (true story), I will go on a homicidal rampage.

5. When Indie Hair Attacks

Are you 1) a male between the ages of 18 and 23 and 2) annoyed when, throughout the course of the day, your perfectly-mussed bedhead dissipates into a coiffure that might not embarrass your mother? If so, then you are guilty of sporting Indie Hair. It's pretty clear who's stashed a $24 jar of TIGI Bedhead in his Rubbermaid "dresser," left casually ajar to display the Blondie vinyl that confirms the hip status of the owner. And no one thinks blue highlights are natural, so they really just add to the contrived aloofness the Indie boy masquerades as rebellion. Ha.

6. When Pretty Boys Don't Attack

This accounts for about 67% of the males on this campus, and no, I don't care that saying this means I will probably never get a date with one of them. Call me old-fashioned, but I like my men a little rough around the edges, you know? Unshaven, smelling perhaps a little ripe, smoking a filterless cigarette with the pack rolled up in his shirtsleeve, while he leans against his motorcycle and waits for me outside Pupin. Or even better, while he rides his badass hog right into the lecture hall to pick me up. Mmmm. In sum, wearing Diesel "sneakers" makes you look like a pussy. And you probably are.

Remember when the ghost of Christmas Past said to Uncle Scrooge, "Ebenezer Scrooge, you're forgetting the real meaning of fashion?" I may hate these people and their stupid clothes, but let us not forget the purpose of the thing. Fashion isn't about hating what other people are wearing. It's about hating what you're wearing. That's right. Good ol' fashioned self-loathing. If millions of American men and women can put on a perfectly nice outfit and stand in front of the mirror seeing only the misshapen deformity of their own taffy-like flesh, then fashion has truly succeeded. Thank you, Gianni Versace. From the fiery depths of hell (which I'm sure you've stylishly redecorated with white leather and lots of awkwardly placed straps!), take comfort knowing that your work has not gone unappreciated. Thank you.