Furry boots are the new shoes. Leggings are the new pants. Orange is the new skin tone. Girlfriends call each other “lover,” guys call each other “broski” and year after year “Chad” and “Lance” play bags on their front lawn … shirtless.
Getting caught up in the image: a trend that is very much alive at the University of Wisconsin. It’s a raw blend of insecurity, self-consciousness and pseudo-pride that crafts the need for status and affiliation. Economists and social scientists continue to prove competitive spending shapes social identity, and it is definitely visible on campus. Elegant high-rises push out traditional college housing, tanning salons infiltrate apartment complexes and text messages via “Blackberry” phones outnumber real conversations 20:1. We are what we buy.
Being “broke” is something the majority of college students have always had in common, which allows for that fresh start after high school graduation. The bullying Marilyn Manson/Slipknot cult stayed back to study witchcraft at community college, while the idolized star point guard is back home raising a baby. College is the opportunity to leave the image behind, a chance to escape a land of the niche where the population creamed jeans over popularity. It didn’t matter if you once were the chump who wore Starter jackets everyday, or the boastful chap who drove a Hummer, or the gal who was “more than friends” with the entire football team — you could leave all of that behind and meet new comrades regardless of past status, social class or economic standing.
Yet, the cliques endure. Preps have evolved into bros, and the “plastics” and “posers” live on in some form or another. These social identities share one nucleus, as their visual brand loyalty is shaped with Timbaland boots and bug-eyed sunglasses that cover nearly every square inch of polished orange.
The Lucky apartment complex is perhaps the most poignant display of the visualization of purchasing power. The extraordinary structure of the future on University Avenue is filled with plush living quarters, food courts and UV tanning coffins that could only be suited for a princess. What happened to mac ‘n’ cheese for three meals a day and catching some rays on the walk to class? If you’re not getting tan enough, walk slower.
While I’ve literally had money thrown at me from the Lucky balconies, I try not to have animosity toward its residents, despite being pegged in the melon by metal coinage. The building is physically impressive and is an obvious economic gain to the campus, but the social consequences are UW. Do we really need a bellhop in a velvet suit to open the door for us while we gossip on the cell with one hand and pull at our spandex-wedgie with the other? I guess the answer is yes.
In our younger days, we all had the same knapsacks, stanky lockers and desks with carvings of penises in various shapes and sizes. In college, competitive consumption visibly molds tightly-knit social identities, as potential new group members are tested/verified through gossip, trendy attire and paddling rituals.
With conformity to pre-established social identities and status markers, fashion trends spread quicker than the norovirus through freshmen dorms while lecture notes are replaced by Facebook photos on laptops thinner than the souls of their users.
We all enjoy buying new things — after all we’re Americans — but it seems unnatural to assimilate to a homogeneous group that assembles based on a uniform appearance, familiar symptoms of brand fashion and new purchases that establish a “brotherhood” and a false sense of entitlement.
No one wants to be at the bottom of the totem pole; that’s where the weeds grow and the wild animals poo. But if one chops down that wood tower of social ranking and places those ancient Tekken heads side by side, no one will know the difference between the master chief and the peon who made his breakfast.
Brett Wisniewski ([email protected]) is a senior majoring in journalism.
