Author: Emily Jensen
For someone who ought to be living on Ramen noodles and ketchup packets, my clothes are pretty damn fancy. So are yours and you know it. Aside from the barefoot trend, which is presumably saving students a fortune on “rad kicks,” the Occidental population hardly resembles a band of hobos. We’re no USC, but I wouldn’t call us ragamuffins either. We look pretty good, but how do we do it? Good-looking clothes cost money, which, as college students, we aren’t really supposed to have. If we have all this cash, and we care as much about the rest of the world as we say we do-the rainforests, Darfur, New Orleans, etc.-do our butts really have any right to look so good in our expensive jeans?
They do and they don’t. Look, I care about the Third World and the little children and everything, but I’ve got to be honest: my first thought when the paycheck rolls in isn’t which activist organization it’s going to go to, but rather which retail establishment will be hosting my three-hour shopping spree. I can’t decide whether this means my priorities are way out of whack or if I’m just a normal American kid; they could be one in the same.
Growing up in a typical American household where the TV is always announcing new toys to be coveted is enough to condition even the most morally resolute children to be out-of-control consumers by the time they hit the 2nd grade. So it’s no surprise that as an 18-year-old who had plenty of time to pine for that 4-foot tall My Size Barbie that I never got, when I get paid, I automatically begins analyzing which variation of sneakers will be next to grace my feet. Clothes are the toys of the adult world.
This knee-jerk consumerism does indirectly contradict the kind of worldly concern I’m supposed to be displaying as a liberal arts college student, but I’m pretty sure I can’t rely on contemplating the AIDS epidemic to exercise control the next time I’m at Urban Outfitters. So what to do? I don’t think there’s anything wrong with spending money on yourself, especially if it’s money you have earned. The best measure I can think to take is simply to be more frugal.
Since I’m a hippie, I decided the problem lies in our use of money as a payment option. An alternative that I don’t think has had a fair chance in the modern economy is the barter system. It doesn’t need to be four geese in exchange for a bale of hay and 12 jars of huckleberry preserves, but take the annual Burning Man Festival, for example. Instead of money, they exchange favors and other stuff, stuff that could totally function as currency. Not that I’m promoting the use of that stuff, I’m just saying that there are forms of exchange that could be way more fun and versatile than dollar bills. Besides, we’re using pennies? Screw pennies. The only time pennies are useful anymore is when a bank robber fills a sock with them and uses them to knock out the teller. So they’re really more of a hazard than a monetary device.
More important than getting rid of superfluous coinage, a barter system would help Americans better gauge the difference between what they want and what they need. Cash is such a generic form of payment that it’s easy to shell out large amounts without weighing the price against the worth; if you had to consider trading your sweet skateboard for new shoes, you’d have to think a bit harder than if you just had to hand the cashier your debit card. We’d have a better idea of what exactly we’re giving up.
Now, just because I’m suggesting other ways to obtain our hip clothes doesn’t mean it’s okay to be too thrifty. I want to make this point just in case it’s not clear. First-years, listen up, I’m about to set you free: if you want to be taken seriously by anyone, ever, stop wearing your Class of 2011 shirt. I know you have other t-shirts, enough that you don’t need to rely on handout garments from your academic institution. Just because Susie P. gave it to you doesn’t mean you’re obligated to wear it-this is not a gift from a dear friend, this is a test. They hand those things out to you guys just to see how many of you are dumb enough to put it on your body. Every time you leave your room clad in that orange monstrosity and walk around the Marketplace, you’re sending the community a loud and clear message that you are a tool for the administration. Don’t do that to yourself. America should be run like a large experimental desert festival and first-years should burn their Class of 2011 t-shirts. Feel free to take action on either count whenever you’re ready.
Emily Jensen is an undeclared sophomore. She can be reached at ejensen@oxy.edu
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