It is now the third week of school here at UW-Eau Claire, and I, frankly, have nothing to wear. 

This isn’t true. It is, in fact, a lie — a blatant one, and how dare I say such a thing when my full closet, my dirty hamper, stands to my right, glaring me down with spiteful eyes.  

And yet, I still say it, and often, too. 

When it was summer — as in, when we weren’t in class, because I wouldn’t personally categorize 80 degrees Fahrenheit as “fall,” but oh well — it didn’t matter. When I wasn’t in my work uniform, I could lounge in just about anything at all. 

But now the school year has begun, and classes are back on campus again, I feel somewhat obligated to rise up to the ever intimidating academic decorum you expect from a college campus. 

And by that I mean, something a teen-sy more elevated than athletic shorts and a T-shirt of the university I wish I got into. 

That is easier said than done, I’m afraid. With the increasingly warm weather, I fear I will sweat through just about everything by the time I make it to my class on the second floor of Centennial. 

Do I want to roll up to my 8 a.m. lecture in Hibbard looking like a swamp monster (am I right, ladies and non-binariy baddies.)? No, not particularly. But if the weather keeps doing what it’s doing, I very well might be forced to. 

In fact, if I have to walk any further than the library, I won’t be seen at all. Instead, I’ll be the rapidly drying puddle on the concrete. It is no joke walking to class in this kind of weather, let alone when you have a twenty-something pound backpack dragging you down. 

Speaking of, now that Syllabus Week has come to an end, the assignments and essays have begun to roll in. I am drowning, both in work but also in the perspiration from the aforementioned scalding weather. 

See the puddle above. 

The already overwhelming presence of work and the physical strain of getting to and from classes has caused me to yearn for simpler, more air-conditioned times. 

Were I in the right state of mind, I would be embarrassed, ashamed by how privileged and whiny this article is — Chief, can we actually not publish this one? 

Unfortunately for me, Chief said no, and I am lucid enough to realize precisely how pretentious and absolutely horrible this sounds, merely adding on to the pile of guilt and shame. 

Other items on that pile include sitting on the toilet for five minutes scrolling through TikTok, hunting down a taxidermy rockstar rat and crying renaissance cat on Pinterest and spending more time dreading my homework than actually doing it. 

But, enough about all that. What am I wearing today? 

The mission is something that screams put together, don’t give strangers reason to suspect my internal monologue is the battery vine playing on a loop. 

Repeat items are a no because there is no way I can get away with any unwashed items at this point.

It needs to be breathable enough that I won’t pass out — or away, let’s be real — on my way across the bridge, but dark enough that my sweat stains won’t be on full display. 

Hmm. 

Wait, I think I got it. I’ll just wear a sack and call it a day. I don’t have time to put together a coherent outfit. Sorry New York Fashion Week, it’s just not happening this semester. 

Schutte can be reached at [email protected]