Confessions of a fashion columnist

Bless me, Prada, for I have sinned.\nI have sat on my fashion high horse for two full semesters, berating IU students for their countless fashion faux pas while neglecting to draw attention to my own.\nThe truth is: I’m flawless. It’s true. But I did catch my high horse wearing Crocs and buying the latest Hilary Duff album at Best Buy. Needless to say, I jumped right off him and saw my replacement high horse sifting through animal necklaces at Forever 21. I have never seen a horse wearing an owl necklace, but I’d venture to say it’s a hoot.\nThe actual truth is that everyone has weaknesses, both in fashion and in life. \nKirstie Alley can’t pass up a KFC without running inside to lick the other patrons’ fingers. Have you tried Jenny yet?\nTara Reid has a weakness for Jose Cuervo and botched boob jobs, which is slightly more respectable than her years of sleeping with Carson Daly.\nAnd Britney Spears ... exists.\nOf course, I too have my own weak points. For example, I pride myself on listening to genuinely good music in a college town where Dave Matthews Band is superhuman and Akon could draw a larger crowd than Jesus (even if he was giving away free bread, fish and AMFs from The Upstairs).\nBut I’m not going to lie. If you listen at my door late at night, you might find out that I know every lyric to the Panic! at the Disco album. As much as I try to resist, 17-year-old boys with eyeliner and obnoxiously long song titles go straight to my heart. \nAnd after getting cozy all day with Blackalicious and Regina Spektor (some of the actual good music I referred to earlier, for those of you who are still not understanding why liking Panic! at the Disco is embarrassing), I often spend my nights drunk, disorderly and absolutely loving The Pussycat Dolls.\nI cringe at the thought.\nBut I think we all know where this is headed next: my closet. Upon first glance it might seem like any fashionista’s closet – colorful, crowded and brimming with elitism. But if you pound your right fist against the back wall and repeat “Manolo Blahnik is life” three times fast, my vault of secrets is revealed. \nAnd that vault of secrets is wearing a pink, Hawaiian-print tech vest from Old Navy, circa 1999. It’s atrocious, but it’s better than what my roommate’s vault of secrets is wearing – the great Performance Fleece mistake of 2001.\nEveryone has been there. I bet even Kate Moss owns a cap-sleeved “Heartbreaker” or “Spoiled” tee. (She bought it at Kohl’s with Pete Doherty, so you know they were straight-laced and sober at the time.)\nOnce, while I was attending summer school before the fourth grade, I wore an orange belly top with orange plaid short shorts and an orange fisherman’s hat. I was asked by the principal to leave due to indecent exposure and my mom had to leave work to come pick up my orange ass from French class. \nIn junior high, I distinctly remember gauging the quality of my wardrobe on the number of Dawls and Roxy T-shirts I owned from PacSun. Soon after, I fell victim to the Abercrombie plague that struck my local mall with a vengeance. \nOnly then was I truly cool. I also got to wear my first XXL, considering that the mediums at Abercrombie barely fit primordial dwarves and stuffed bunny rabbits. No wonder the dressing rooms smell like self-hatred and Diet Coke.\nFast-forward through ripped jeans, Aeropostale T-shirts (that all say “AEROPOSTALE” on them) and an alarming number of puka shell necklaces later to college, where, hopefully, I have redeemed myself.\nI feel uber-confident in my style to date, but I do have one ultimate confession.\nSit down for this.\nLast week, during the haze that was Little 5, I wore Ugg boots to a “What the f*$# are you wearing?” party, and, much to my chagrin, they were probably the most comfortable shoes I have ever worn in my life.\nThey’re still ugly as hell, though.