What to Wear

According to commercials, the success of your education relies on one thing: the right supplies. Namely, the right first-day-of-school outfit.

The logic of the marketing industry is that stylish clothes fill students with confidence, giving them the buoyancy and courage they need to swagger through the school year.

Last year, for the first day of college (ever!) I wore a cute pink pocket tee with dark skinny jeans.

This year, my sorority issued an “outfit schedule” for the first two weeks of classes.

They have legitimate reasons for doing this: increased presence on campus, boost pre-rush spirit, etc.

Rebellion was my natural reaction.

I have several pictures of school events where everyone is obediently wearing the maroon “uniform” shirt for United Methodist Preschool and I’m rocking a yellow shirt and overalls or a bright blue sundress or something equally anarchistic.

I like to look cute. And I hate being told what to do.

But I’m not the same girl who walked into her first class with feigned bravado. I only had a few acquaintances and no true friends (yet). I was adrift, with no identity outside of my own inherent charms, which (honestly) mostly consisted of a non-intimidating resting face and the willingness to go along with any activity that I didn’t have moral objections to.

Now, I am a part of something. Many things, actually: I am life editor and A&E co-editor for our school newspaper; treasurer of the broadcasting society; secretary of the Rutledge Honorary History Society; a mentor for handicapped students; and Sisterhood Enrichment Team leader and student government representative for my sorority.

I am quite possibly involved in too many things.

We, as a society, place a lot of responsibility on clothes to communicate both who we are and who we want to become. I am proud of everything that I am a part of and glad to represent them, even if it’s only by wearing a t-shirt.

And if that means following an outfit schedule, then I guess I’m ok with that.

Isn’t family – sisterhood – sometimes about forcing a smile and agreeing to go along with whatever they have planned?

One value that my sorority emphasizes is confidence. A childhood full of watching “What Not to Wear” taught me that it can be expressed through clothes, but confidence ultimately comes from the individual – not the outfit.

Take that, marketing majors.

Hair Today, Blonde Tomorrow

My hair evolution. Yes, I deliberately skipped over the awkward middle school years.

A revolution raged across the country. Like their forefathers had centuries earlier, the oppressed masses fought for equality. They didn’t fight with a guillotine, but with scissors. This war wasn’t poverty vs. luxury, but tradition vs. well, fashion.

I’ll get back to French history in a second. Right now, I am having a crisis: my hair.

When I was a tyke, my skin was tan, my eyes were blue, and my hair was almost white. Unfortunately, as I’ve gotten older, my skin has gotten lighter, my eyes have gotten greener, and my hair has gotten darker.

Eventually, I’ll look like a green-eyed Snow White.

Living in Tennessee during the school year felt miserable. It was cold the entire spring semester. So, from the end of fall semester to the end of spring semester, I left my dorm as little as possible.

Since it didn’t see the sun, my hair became darker.

“It’s true,” my friend agreed. “You looked like Malibu Barbie when you first came here. Now your hair looks red.”

I’ve started thinking about bleaching it, which isn’t something I’ve ever had to consider about before. For no real reason, I highlighted my hair once before – in 8^th grade – which proved to be a mistake, like most of the decisions I made during that era. It was a time of experimentation and awkwardness and the two often went hand-in-hand. The result was a yellow mop that made my face look bright pink.

Hair is a form of self-expression. That revolution I mentioned earlier was the genesis of the bobbed hairstyle. When women in France began bobbing their hair, they were disowned by their families, even run out of town. Did that stop them? Hecks, no. They sullenly pointed to the French savior, Joan of Arc, who made the bobbed cut a symbol of girl power and their efforts created a style sensastion; with the arrival of World War I, it became enormously popular.

But it’s not just that I prefer the lighter blonde look. My hair is lighter when I’m outside, when I’m at the beach or by the pool or just enjoying the outdoors. Basically, my hair is lightest when I’m happiest. When life isn’t coming crashing down on me. When I’m enjoying myself.

I suppose I should embrace my darker look. It represents change. It represents overcoming challenges. It represents the new era of my life.

But, like any borderline hippie, wannabe Barbie, I’m dousing it in lemon juice and spending every spare second basking in the sunshine.

Viva la revolution?

Or maybe just evolution.

My College Addiction

You know how when you spend a lot of time with someone, their habits start to rub off on you? And when you live with them, becoming them, even in every terrible way that you swore not to, is inevitable? (Since going to college, I’ve discovered that I am/will be exactly like my mom. Completely unrelated to the previous comment.)

I think that is one of the most potentially dangerous things about college. It is nearly impossible not to be influenced by the people you live with, and in college, at least your first year, you are likely living with someone you have never met before in your life. Who knows what habits they have that don’t show up on the room request form? I won’t even dive into all of the horrifying possibilities. And, despite the well-intentioned, valiant effort that your parents made to raise you right, sometimes you cave.

But I have decided to get myself back on the straight and narrow. I am staging a self-intervention. I am completely cutting myself off. No gradual decline, I am just ripping the bandage off and exposing a dark, ugly wound for the world to see.

My name is Ali Renckens and I am a popcorn addict.

I blame it entirely on my roommate. She has a love for microwave popcorn, so our dorm room always smells like a movie theatre. When the smell of butter and salt greets me before I even put the key in the lock, I know Hannah is home.

Naturally, with Orville Redenbacher as a third roommate, I started buying popcorn. And consuming several bags a week. Kroger was my enabler, being open 24/7 and selling Skinny Pop for $1 a bag. (As a college kid, I have a new appreciation for sales.)

If I get the freshman fifteen, it will be entirely due to popcorn.

The situation came to a crisis one day when I strolled into Kroger, basket over my arm to fill with bags of air popped goodness. Turning into the aisle, I stopped. There it was, or rather it wasn’t: the red sale sign.

I’m a broke college kid! I can’t afford full price at the dollar store!

Foam pushed out of the corners of my mouth. My eyes rolled back for a view of my convulsive brain. I realized then and there that I had to quit before it destroyed me.

Then I saw it: 479 degree popcorn on sale.

That’s right; I’m typing this in between handfuls of artisan popcorn.

I suppose it could be worse. I could be addicted to marijuana. Or One Direction.

10 Things to do When You’re Too Busy to do Anything

 

I haven’t posted anything for a solid two weeks. Classes, newspaper staff, National Broadcasting Society, sorority life…things pile up. As a self-certified expert, I can say that being too busy leads to stress. And if there’s one thing worse than being overworked, it’s stressing about being overworked.

I am the queen of stressing, overcommitting, and shouldering a heavy workload. So I consider myself the perfect person to give some advice on de-stressing. (At least without the “de-.”) Here are ten activities that will give you a little break from whatever’s getting you down:

1. Bake something sweet and share it with friends. Use those Pinterest recipes you’ve been saving up! Also, especially when everyone else is stressed, you become the nicest, most talented person in the world. (Some fun suggestions: praline brownies, pecan pie bars, salted caramel butter bars, and peanut butter cookie dough brownies. Links to recipes below.)

2. Take pictures. Explore. Try to find a new perspective on ordinary objects. You don’t even need a camera! Remind your Instagram friends that beauty, wonder, and hope still exist!

3. Pet furry animals. If you don’t own one, visit a friend or pet store. We aren’t allowed to even have fish in our dorms, but two pet stores are close to campus. (Personally, cats are my favorite.)

4. Go for a run, bike ride, or short workout. “Running gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people just don’t kill their husbands. They just don’t.” If you’ve never felt so stressed that you would kill a husband (or wife), you’ve never been to college. Get rid of that aggression in a positive way.

5. Blow bubbles. Make them as big as you can. Catch them with your wand. Or kick it up a notch up by making your own bubbles and adding glow-in-the-dark or fluorescent paint.

6. Watch funny YouTube clips. Unfortunately, I don’t have any suggestions, but I’m sure your Facebook friends do!

7. Fly a kite. “With tuppence for paper and strings/You can have your own set of wings/With your feet on the ground/You’re a bird in a flight/With your fist holding tight/To the string of your kite/Oh, oh, oh!/Let’s go fly a kite!”

8. Regress. Find something you loved when you were younger. Play an old video game. “Build” a pre-built teddy bear. Finger paint. Draw on the walls. Whatever your thing is.

9. Visit a nursery. The kind that grows plants, not kids. I actually enjoy walking through nurseries more than gardens. Gardens are so clean and put-together, but nurseries invite you to smell the flowers, herbs, and dirt. There is a lot more to see when things are not show-ready.

10. Blog. Yeah. I don’t always take my own advice.

Thanks to Call Me PMC, Just a Taste, Inspired Dreamer, and Kitchen Meets Girl for scoring me friendship points! Want more? Enter your e-mail in the box on the top right or, if you have a WordPress account, press the “Follow” button on the top of the screen!

Praline Brownies: http://www.callmepmc.com/2014/05/praline-brownies/

Pecan Pie Bars: http://www.justataste.com/2011/11/pecan-pie-bars/

Salted Caramel Butter Bars: http://inspiredreamer.com/salted-caramel-butter-bars/

Peanut Butter Cookie Dough Brownies: http://kitchenmeetsgirl.com/peanut-butter-cookie-dough-brownies/

 

Freedom and Sausage

My first taste of freedom came at breakfast.

(Apologies for the pun.)

I have been away from home for several occasions – camp, conferences, sundry trips – but on all of those occasions, I had a rigid schedule with strict set of rules, the most prevalent being, “YOU MUST EAT EVERY MEAL.”

Being the rule-follower that I am, that was my mentality when I left for a college weekend – by myself. It didn’t even occur to me that we were not required to have breakfast until two girls I was rooming with decided to skip. I opened my mouth to warn them that they had to before I realized: we didn’t. There was no counselor or chaperone to “counsel” us to eat breakfast. That simple realization opened a new world.

I hesitate to use the word “freedom” because living off of weekly (okay, daily) petitions to my parents for money is hardly “freedom.” But working hard, planning for my future, and making my own decisions (yes, even dumb things like eating breakfast or not) is a beautiful kind of freedom.

I’m here because I want to be. And I ate breakfast, and still do, because I want to. Even though it seems to be an unwritten rule of college not to.

Every morning, I wake up, throw on some clothes, add a swipe of mascara, and slip off to the cafeteria for breakfast, leaving my roommate, and the rest of campus, slumbering.

Every morning, I eat alone.

The only other people I ever see in the cafeteria are the athletes; some girls wearing colorful Nike shorts, others wearing basketball shorts, and guys in t-shirt and workout shorts.

One dreary, rainy morning, the athletes were allowed to sleep-in and I discovered a chatty chemistry major who was eager to dump her woeful tale of an 8 o’clock Physics II class on a sympathetic ear. So eager, it didn’t matter that that ear was precariously balancing a thick book, colorful array of G-2 pens, open notebook, and plate of breakfast. From my table, holding my honors reading in one hand and a fork in another, I nodded at her miseries. After a slight lull, she interrupted my studying again to ask what class I had.

“Oh, I have Public Communication at 12:15 and Physics lab after that.”

Her eyes bulged. Her jaw dropped.

“What are you doing up?” she asked in an incredulous tone that implied that I suffer from a mental disorder of the highest degree: early bird syndrome.

I gave the poor girl a small smile and shrugged.

Just enjoying my freedom. And sausage.

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