I would like to start this post by saying that if I come across as slightly bitter and cynical, it is because this topic makes me slightly bitter and cynical. I have never been a person to take myself very seriously, and this most definitely has transcended into my casual wardrobe. Going to an all-girl high school let me experiment with just how much I could not care about my appearance but still avoid looking like a feature on Hoarders (obviously, I have a reputation to uphold). A stigma often associated with all-girl schools is that we compare our designer clothes and feel pressured to flaunt our wealth through fancy accessories; yeah, my Target headband is ten times cooler than the one you got at Urban, mostly because it also came with a free bottle of body spray and I need that.

This topic comes across my desk because of a pair of yoga pants. My mother -- the fit, petite woman that she is -- teaches Yoga and Pilates and basically every form of exercise imaginable, thus leading to an excess of yoga pants in our house. So, to ensure I didn't crash and burn, my mother gave me a pair. Upon first glance, they appear to be your standard black yoga pants. But the beauty lies at the end on my left ankle, an intricate silver design of swirls and spirals that adds just the right amount of spunk to an otherwise boring pair of pants. I believe these pants have a mullet mentality: sophisticatedly casual on the top, trashy on the bottom. Not being much of a yoga pant expert, I figured I was just like all the rest of the girls wearing cute yoga pants around. Ya know, those girls that the guys are talking about when they post those stupid memes saying, "It's fall, so you know what that means…yoga pants weather (emoji with hearts in the eyes)."

I can't pinpoint exactly when it all started, but my funky pants surprisingly weren't a hit among my friends. I was taunted and bullied as I walked through the halls, with girls snickering simply because I was different (this is entirely exaggerated, but don't let the truth get in the way of a good story). This happened every time I wore them until… the dagger. I'm not even sure who I can credit with the naming of my pants, but one friend was bold enough to ask if I got my pants at Ed Hardy. ED HARDY. Pleeeaassee, I eat Pick n' Save sushi for lunch, who do you think I am? Somehow word spread throughout school and, without fail, I would have girls yelling "Hey Kalee, cool pants! Where's the party?" At first I was confused. These are single-handedly the most comfortable pants I've ever worn. They're casual and fun at the EXACT SAME TIME. Why doesn't anybody like them like I do? Whenever I changed at a sleepover, my friends would forbid me from putting on the pants and, if I did, I was rewarded with lots of eye rolling and groans. So, naturally, I started to wear them all the time. I even went so far as to wear them with heels. And then it occurred to me: how angry could I make people with my wardrobe choices?

If I'm trying to be comfy, my comfort is literally the only thing that matters. I will throw together whatever I find to walk out the door and that's perfectly okay with me. Groutfits, bloutfits, tye-doutfits, anything goes. This caused some turmoil with my roommate (S/O Mary) because she wouldn't let me wear a pair of flip flops my parents bought me at the bookstore: thick, foamy flip flops with cushiony toe straps that read BILLIKENS on both sides. Apparently Mary thought she was "saving me from public humiliation" and "making sure I can actually make friends in college." So this became a fun game for me too: how often can I wear the flip flops without her stopping me? I think that if you don't have a little adventure in life, is it even worth living? On the same coin, if your friends don't cringe when you walk out the door and say they're embarrassed to know you, are you even really friends?