Thursday, March 27, 2008


My name has been in the paper several times this week and not just on the masthead and at the top of this column.

Monday my roomie Christine wrote an opinion column on fashion, in which she argued that fashion should be a personal choice and a mode of self-expression. Of course it should, but fashion as a study and as an industry becomes meaningless if it is not held to certain standards. But that is another column for another day.

Then on Tuesday, my dear editor published a comment from made by my friend Jim Dees from Thacker Mountain Radio.

I have to say thank you for reading and thanks for saying I'm attractive. Usually I think I'm attractive, too, but sometimes I wonder.

Oh, and my sunglasses aren't that big. It's true that they are large. But extra large, no.

I've decided to write my column this week on bar fashion. The only thing more sacred than Grove fashion at this school is "going out" fashion.

Are you going out tonight? I guarantee you I am. Maybe I'll see you at the Grocery or Parrish's. The latter only if they play good music. And by good I mean Ludacris, Usher and Webbie.

Last time I was out on the Square, I saw a girl walk in the bar wearing a T-shirt, the infamous Nike workout shorts and flip flops.

Really? I'm sitting here in a baby doll dress and 5-inch heels, and you're gonna roll up looking like you just came from the gym? Hellz no.

Then there are the ladies who dress up too much for the Square. They are the types that tend to overdress all the time, i.e., wearing designer gowns and shoes to the Grove.

They also love to mess their hair up before they go out, which makes no sense. And they wear entirely too much make-up. You may be dressed like a fool, but that doesn't mean you have to look like a clown.

One time I saw a girl's ass at 208 (R.I.P.). She was wearing a tunic dress so short that when she lifted her arms to hug someone or get her wine off the bar, her panties showed. Not. Hot.

I have nothing against underwear. But I sure as hell don't want to see your white cotton briefs donned with pastel flowers while I'm in one of the best restaurants in Oxford. Shudder.

Guys aren't innocent either. If you are wearing khaki shorts to the bar, you look like a fool. If you are wearing full-on athletic gear, you are a fool.

Last time I was out I saw a guy wearing sweatpants, a T-shirt and a sweatshirt in the bar.

What? Same rules apply as they do for our gym bunny from earlier - if you just worked out, that's cool; just go home and change before you go out.

You could probably use a shower anyway, LBO.

I am also not a fan of the super-dressy look at the bars. I think there's a happy middle ground between workout clothes and suits.

One time I was out and saw a guy wearing a full suit with a bright pink dress shirt. No. Just no.

You're in freaking Oxford. We're all in Oxford. It's an unfortunate situation, and, luckily for me and many of you, a temporary one.

It's a good idea to dress cute for the bars, def. But to wear a suit or something equally ostentatious to a bar in Oxford just makes you look stupid. This town is full of rich people.

Dressing rich doesn't make you look cool or respectable. Dress well, yes, but also get over yourself.

If it's likely you are going to see vomit at least once while you are out tonight, dress accordingly. Some girl vommed in the sink one time when I was out. No lie.

Until next time, majorly yours.

Monday, March 24, 2008

Clogs, blogs and thanks

I'm over clogs. Today I saw my second pair of chunky clogs in as many weeks. As in brown, wooden sole clogs with metal buckles. These fashion tragedies were popular during the late 1990s, and still no one knows why. Even more perplexing is why anyone continues to wear them in public.

I'm not going to lie. I owned a pair when I was in the 7th grade. But so did everyone else. And we all looked like fools together. But now, since most people choose not to don 10-pound wooden clogs when adventuring to Wal-Mart, it means you alone look like a fool. Sadness.

In other news, I encourage you all to scroll down to the bottom of the page and check out the number of hits on the blog. Exciting, no? Granted, they aren't unique views, but still. It makes me feel good.

Also, I have heard several comments recently from people who love my column. I really appreciate it. There will always be haters, and I have always thought it's easier to speak out as a hater than as a lover. So thanks to all of you who have shown the love. Keep showin'.


Thursday, March 20, 2008

I want to pinch 365 days a year

I don't like St. Patrick's Day. I don't hate it either, but it just seems hard to have any feelings that aren't neutral about a holiday that I deem largely meaningless.

Hey, let's all wear green and drink some beer. I can understand the significance if you are, in fact, Irish, but other than that, it's just an excuse to cover yourself in a pukey color and drink entirely too much.

I do like the pinching. Only I don't like to be pinched because I'm not wearing a certain color. If I'm wearing something fugly, like green crocs, then you can pinch me.

But for re re, if you pinch me, I will click on your ass. I don't like being touched.

I wish I could pinch people who dressed like freaks 365 days a year and it be deemed socially acceptable.

I saw a lady wearing some sort of embellished tank top, high-waisted flare jeans that were a couple inches too short a la 1985 and huge brown clogs. Why couldn't I pinch her? She looked like a damn fool - but her shirt was green.

So if I pinched her, I would just be seen as a hateful hobgoblin. But if her shirt had been blue, it would have been OK? Stupid. Stupid holiday.

In other news, my favorite preacher is back on campus. I'm sure Brother Micah already thinks I'm going to hell so I don't feel the need to hold back.

I love suspenders on hot women. See: Victoria Beckham on the cover of December's Elle. Loves. It. Yes, I said hot. I guess I'm going to homo hell.

Suspenders on a balding, middle-aged, overweight man yelling offensive things and calling women whores as they walk by? Fugly.

If you are going to yell at people and tell them they are all going to hell specifically to raise awareness of your "religion," you are also going to raise awareness of what you are wearing.

It makes sense. A crowd of 300 people looking at you - and you're going to wear suspenders, a stupid-looking hat and, my favorite part, some sort of backpack strapped so tight it reminds me of that BDSM film I watched last week.

Oops. Hell strike two.

Honestly. Everyone here thinks you're a fool already, but that doesn't mean you have to dress like one.

On the other hand, if you are going to speak out against masturbation and fornication, one could argue that it's appropriate to dress like someone who has never experienced either of those things.

Congrats, Brother.

I would also like to say that if hell exists as our friend Micah describes it, it is full of masturbators, fornicators and homosexuals. If that's the case, my damnation has been a long time coming.

That's what she said.

And hell would also be - let's be honest here - one hell of a party.

Next week, more tomfoolery. Until then, majorly yours.

Monday, March 10, 2008

Zee white beaches

I'm in Destin for Spring Break. The Internet in my condo costs $4 an hour to rent. As such, I must be brief.

I just wanted to say - I'm so over the skinny tan look all the females down here are sporting. Tanning is bad for you. If you have bronze skin, and it's obvious that you weren't blessed with that skin tone, you look like a fool. Getting some sun is good for you - getting so much that you look like a burned pop tart is not. Overz it.

Also, I want to take a moment to celebrate women with some curves. Mind you, I appreciate a well-toned bod, but I think in the long run, having a little something to grab onto is preferable.

That's what she said.


Thursday, March 6, 2008

The blogging world and professor fashion

I lied to you last week. I said there would be a surprise in this week's column.

There are two.

Surprise No.1. I hope you're ready. Hautey Toddy is now its very own blog. Sure, you will still read it here, in the print version every week, and you can still find it on, but now it has a home of its own:

What's the point of moving the column online, you ask? Because I wanted to, that's why.

It's also so that you can check periodically during the day for continuous updates on horrible fashion choices I see.

And it looks nice, too. The blog, probably not what you're wearing. I designed the logo myself.

Oh, and I can't make any promises, but expect the Hautey Toddy blog to live on long after I've graduated.

People dress poorly everywhere. Just because I'm moving to New York doesn't mean I won't have plenty of material to mmmblog about.

Go check the blog today! You should see a welcome note written by yours truly as well as all my old columns. Have fun and please comment.

Surprise No. 2. I have received many requests to write a column on professor fashion. Well, my dear friends, here it is.

I want to start off with a disclaimer. I have taken many classes in my years at this university, and I have had many different teachers.

The specific looks I discuss herein cannot necessarily be attributed to current or past teachers I have had; it could be any teacher I have encountered during my stay here. And remember, it's all in good fun. Sort of like cat toys.

First, it's interesting to note that most of the professors I have encountered have been male. Thus this column will focus mostly on their fashion choices, not due to any gender bias of my own, but rather due to the circumstances available to me. Sorry, guys.

First, there's the classic professor look. Pleated khakis, brown belt, some sort of button-up - sometimes long-sleeved, sometimes short - brown dress shoes. There's the occasional vest thrown in for good measure, in case you ever doubted their professorness.

Sometimes it's a sporty vest of the fleece variety, sometimes a dressier vest. Sometimes even a sport coat over the vest - for those in super professor mode. Oh, sport coat. My favorites are the ones with the elbow patches.

For those professors who fancy themselves more fashion-forward and like to throw it up a bit while still maintaining that professor motif, there's the dressier version of the above. Black or gray dress pants, black dress shoes, pastel button-up, bold tie tucked into vest.

This is my personal favorite because it allows for a bit more variation than the former style. It shows the professor has actually made an effort to dress up, which is respectable since they tend to stand in front of classrooms filled with students wearing North Face jackets, leggings and/or sweatpants and flip flops. And we can't forget the shacker hair. Unfortunately.

Then of course there are those we don't speak of. Those professors who, in addition to not making any effort to dress up, barely get dressed at all for class.

For 8 a.m. classes this is understandable, but still reprehensible. Wearing a T-shirt (even if it's long-sleeved or Polo) and jeans to class is not OK.

A sweater and jeans … shmeh. Borderline. In fact, jeans in general should be avoided. Unless it's Friday.

You get paid to go to class. It's your job, so work clothing is appropriate.

Not that I'm condoning slovenly student dress - read the archives of my column on my blog and you'll see - but there is just a certain expected level of dress for professors. And T-shirts and jeans ain't it.

Have a professor whose look you want to talk about? Comment on my blog.

Next week is spring break! Enjoy. Until next time, majorly yours.

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

Bienvenue and welcome, betchez

If you're reading this, you found my blog. Congratulations! If only most people dressed as well as they navigated the Internets.

This blog is a newborn baby, kicking and screaming and covered in amniotic fluid. Ew. As such, it needs your help. Clearly it will be an extension of the weekly DM column – it will carry that content plus any extra stuff I feel like writing about. It should be lots of fun, for both of us. That's what she said.

But if you want to see more content, less content or just different content, let me know by leaving comments on the posts. If you loves what I said, let me know. If you hates it, let me know that too. Let's be honest, I know you're out there. No point in hiding. Blogs are cool like that – we can sort of go back and forth discussing topics.

It's gonna be fun, I promise. I know I will have fun posting about things I see.

Speaking of, I went to the ballet Tuesday night at the Ford Center and saw a lady wearing a short denim skirt. No you didn't. First of all, it was 30 degrees outside, so you look like an idiot. Second of all, short denim skirts were never in. I have owned my fair share, believe me. But it never looked particularly good on me. Shudder. Third of all, you're at the ballet. Dress or dress pants are required. No questions. She also had on high-heeled sandals. Seriously? It's so cold. Everything about the outfit was just so wrong. Le sigh my friends.