All throughout my high school years, I was constantly in uniform; I went to a Catholic high school after all, so a uniform was naturally expected.

At WSU, I am constantly out of uniform, and I really hope the dean of students never catches me and sends me home to change.

In high school, the uniform vendors sold the standardized outfits at outrageous prices, something to do with oligopolistic competition and likely collusion. For this reason, I possess an appalling lack of sweatpants, sweatshirts, athletic shorts and yoga pants to ever wear the proper attire for class.

Luckily, the professors do not seem overly concerned that I show up each day in corduroys or Banana Republic jeans, sporting a collared shirt and a cardigan or sweater for those bitter winter days. I am always afraid, however, that my peers who always say something like “you always look so nice,” will rat me out to the authorities for my rule-breaking ways.

I am not trying to deliberately smash the WSU system; uniforms are valuable for their ability to equalize among class and culture – and in case you were wondering, I do in fact advocate for crimson and gray hijabs and other forms of religious headwear. Coug-swag must be inclusive for all Cougs.

Rather, I never seem to get around to stocking my closet with the correct apparel. I guess college became my time for rebelling. Rebellion, thy name is J. Crew.

I also sport inappropriate footwear. I do not own the mandatory Ugg boots, flip flops and white socks or neon-colored trainers. Rather, my on-campus footwear is largely composed of selections from the Nordstrom men’s shoe department or Toms. One day, my apparel abandonment will come back to bite me.

I buy wholeheartedly into the “crimson and gray, all day, every day” mantra, except for the fact that I have not bought in with my wardrobe. My allegiance must not be as strong as the engineering students who devotedly don Voiland College t-shirts and ill-fitting jeans. I salute you fine people for your dedication to the cause.

Moreover, my facial hair is unsightly, a trait I share with many of my peers, but I have yet to develop the self-confidence to grow a horrendous, patchy thing that can hardly be called a beard.

Instead, I get up every morning; shave, shower and gel my hair; and choose from a small line of patterned collared shirts, thoughtfully hung pants and a rotation of sweaters and cardigans. In this ritual, I continue my clothing heresy and violate the sanctity of the WSU uniform.