If you had told me three years ago that by senior fall I'd sit poised to write an article defaming flair, I would have screamed blasphemy. I am the first to admit that I've more than dabbled in the world of flair. I even traveled back home freshman summer determined to spread the gospel of flair to my high school friends, convinced that I would have them scouring Salvation Army racks in no time. The prospect of arguing in opposition would have seemed unfathomable back then. Yet, here I sit, aspiring to convince you, dear reader, that flair is not the path to enlightenment, nor transcendence of fashion, nor even a foolproof strategy for fitting in at Dartmouth.
A look at why, exactly, so many of us choose to don flair is a crucial starting point for evaluating its merits. Breaking fashion norms for the sake of self-expression at college is completely acceptable and even advisable -- assuming there aren't any legal issues surrounding public nudity involved -- but flair seems to be a statement going beyond simple self-expression. Instead of "sticking-it-to-the-man" by trading blue ties for neon spandex, flair is simply another extension of being "soooo Dartmouth," a la Steph Herbert '06. Drop another "self-call," or "NBD" (does that still exist?) into conversation, and yes, we'll all get the point.
I realize I'm dating myself here. The point I want to make, however, is that one of the absolute best parts about Dartmouth is how extraordinarily skilled and talented, yet simultaneously understated, everyone seems -- students and faculty alike. This combination of achievement and modesty is, in my mind, one of the pillars of what it has always meant to be "so Dartmouth." Discoveries -- that the person sitting beside me actually did build that hyperbolic African orphanage and never mentioned it in the first three years of our friendship, or the girl I thought was skipping class is actually in Europe playing in an international hockey tournament for Team Canada -- are constant reminders of the accomplishment that I forget surround me.
This isn't just a plug for Dartmouth, it's a call to arms. If you're like me and haven't actually traveled to Africa, or can't skate without a hockey stick to hold you up, you still have the opportunity to be part of the aforementioned Dartmouth culture. Push yourself to achieve something that's meaningful to you -- maybe you can even get Dartmouth to give you boatloads of money to do it -- and know that in doing so you're joining legions of accomplished peers and alumni. Flair is like a quick-fix in the book of "How to feel at home and fit in at Dartmouth." Discovering what you love and using your time and resources to pursue that passion is the long way around to reaching the same goal. As opposed to permanent polaroids of your outfit, you'll hopefully be left with that lasting feeling of pride.
I realize this is sounding somewhat didactic, and I should point out that I've yet to figure out how I want to accomplish said broad and daunting objective in my final two terms. So, in sum, I'm still going to sport flair. But one thing I have realized as I've gotten older -- I'm not making any claims about being wiser -- is that picking up the lingo, visiting the Salvation Army and learning to throw save can effectively create the facade of being a "real Dartmouth student," but it takes a bit more than that for you to really internalize that feeling.
Finally, just to be the ultimate bubble burster, it should be noted that flair has been integrated into wider society in such a way that detracts from what made it so uniquely Dartmouth in the first place.
A quick trip to americanapparel.net -- purely for investigative purposes, of course -- revealed its top seller is none other than "cotton spandex jersey leggings," available in every color from orange, to mint, to polka dots. The shiny and zebra-print versions are listed separately, but deemed American Apparel-worthy nonetheless, as is the "shiny ruched tube bra." If flair is widely available from a company as mainstream as American Apparel, it's not all that exceptional. Whether bequested, mined from the racks of the Listen Center, or yes, purchased online along with that extra hoodie for Winter term, it's all flair, and it's all available to anyone with access to the Internet.
Keep scouring those racks, and shamelessly hint to your favorite senior how much you would love their statement sequined dress or leather onesie after graduation. Just keep in mind that no matter how much flair you accumulate, feeling like a part of Dartmouth requires more than spandex. Don't get blinded by the gold lam.
Joanna is a staff writer for The Mirror. We just got a little verklempt.
