Class of '98, Bitches!

The mornings are nice and crispy now, just like I like 'em. I love my scarves, I love my fall jackets, and I love arriving at work feeling clean and refreshed rather than a sweaty greaseball. I love the smell of fall - the leaves, the air, the changing trees.

I also really love seeing the poor freshmen in their high school varsity jackets.

When I was in college, I would have worn six sweatshirts at the same time and roll around like Violet Beauregard before I wore my high school varsity jacket, yet every year I see more than a few kids on campus wearing theirs. This simultaneously makes me laugh and makes me feel amazing amounts of pity for those poor kids. It's bad enough that you're a freshman. You look young enough already - it's not like you want a big huge neon sign advertising your relative age as you walk to class.

You know exactly how it went down, too. It has everything to do with the kid's mother. "You begged us for that jacket! You wore it for ONE WINTER. It still looks BRAND NEW. We'll get you a new winter coat when you grow out of this one."

I was pretty sure that my parents were hip enough to know that wearing my varsity jacket would attach immense levels of lameness to me, but just to be sure, I never once complained about the weather and dropped enough hints to ensure that I was gifted a nice Columbia coat around Thanksgiving. I never did get the North Face jacket I always wanted, but then again, I wasn't too eager to look like every other girl on campus either. (Secret: I still want one.)

It's really amazing, though, how a hodge-podge of coarse wool and leather can be a major status symbol one moment, and a cloak of shame the next. I wore the life out of my varsity jacket in high school, but since the winter of my senior year, it has not left my childhood bedroom. I tried it on a year ago and it was still pristine.

Does anyone want it? It would probably make my mother happy.