The Library: catwalk or casual?

I’ve just about come to terms with the plethora of Hunters, Barbours and sun-bed tans that walk these streets. Wait, I take that back. Sun-bed tans are just stupid. Were your extra freckles worth the UV rays? Oh, and spray tanning? Yes, your orange skin really blends in with all the people who appear to suffer from vampirism. Regardless, I’ve come to accept that it’s just part of the go-to look for the majority of our student population. But kids, I implore you, leave that crap on Market Street where it belongs. Don’t bring it to the fucking library.

Am I wrong in thinking that the silent upper floors of the library are meant for serious study? I guess I just don’t understand why students feel the need to dress up when they have real work to do. Personally, the pain of writing an essay is enough for me. The extra discomfort from a heels or push-up bra doesn’t make my stress disappear. Girls: can you really concentrate while constantly crossing your legs in that short dress? Guys: how can you read when your skinny jeans are tighter than mine? So, if you’re just procrastinating, go to the ground floor or take a stroll over to Taste to make room for people who need to get work done. 

I’ll admit, I too try to dress like a Trendy Wendy when I’m ‘working’ on the ground floor – just in case any cute tutorial boys happen to be lingering about. More often than not, though, I’m there to get shit done. Yes, the library is a decent place to meet up. Yes, I go there to use the outlet plugs instead of racking up my electricity bill. Yes, I occasionally twirl my hair when an attractive rugby player sits next to me. But when I’m at the library for non-shallow reasons, I put little to no effort into my outfit choice. 

When it’s deadline go-time, I walk right past the chicks in knee-high, platform wedges (who does that?), debuting their cute designer tops whilst I ‘work’ my sweatshirt and yoga pants. And no, I did not come straight from the gym; I’ve come from BED. I head straight to the upper floors to ensure I don’t distract the cool kids with my heinous attire. I have just one thing to say to ground-floor dwellers: don’t judge me, betches. 

Don’t just read this as a rant by a bitter girl with a lack of any sense of fashion or style. Look at it as encouragement to build up your self-confidence. Don’t have any major essays due but still wanna hit up North Street to get some reading done? You don’t have to put on your Sunday best. Just don your Patagonias and Canterburys. Remember, I believe in you.

Photo ©Anna Gudnason