Illustration by Arnie Bermudez

I probably will lose my reputation as a serious movie buff by saying this, but I have to confess: I love chick flicks. Don't get me wrong, some of my favorite films feature mind-blowing plot twists, intense character development and Anthony Hopkins.

Yet the chick flick will always have a hold over me. It's the cinematic equivalent of comfort food, unabashedly trite, but satisfying nonetheless. One of my favorites is "Steel Magnolias."

Its appeal is based on it featuring one of the greatest lines in all of moviedom: "The only difference between us and the animals is our ability to accessorize."

Susan Bonicillo Columnist

Perhaps one can easily dismiss this as materialistic musing, but it also points to an extremely important, yet unhonored aspect of human life: fashion.

The human body is beautiful. However, in its unadorned state, it is no match for the natural chic of our animal counterparts. Take into account the minimalist stylings of the jaguar or the overpowering opulence of the peacock.

Only through fashion can humans ever hope to compare to the flash of the natural world. Though clothing's primary function is to shelter us from the elements, in the right hands, clothing can be an art and the most visible sign of self-expression.

What would have become of James Dean's role as the quintessential American rebel with out his iconic leather jacket? Would Humphrey Bogart's character in "Casablanca" been as enamored with Ingrid Bergman without the allure of the shadows played upon her beautifully sculpted face by her strategically placed fedora? And would the hippie movement of the '60s been as powerful if the young dissidents wore stuffy tweed instead of unconventional, free denim?

Fashion is one of the few areas in daily life where we have complete control. It's an intensely individual ritual in which you decide how you wish to present yourself to the outside world. However, with this choice comes responsibility to uphold aesthetic value. In other words, beware of wandering into "fashion victim territory."

On campus, one of the biggest offenses lies in the continued use of those chunky platform sandals. The design consists of a huge Styrofoam block that catapults the wearer into the upper limits of the stratosphere. Whether the wearer is self-conscious about her height or has an unnatural aversion to the ground, I cannot say. Yet the Frankenstein-like walk one affects from wearing such devices just isn't appealing. Perhaps stumbling around your own feet can be attractive in some cultures, but please use them for better purposes like a doorstop or makeshift stepladder.

Additionally, as much as clothing is designed to cover up, it also is designed to reveal. Considering the great number of pretty young things around campus, it'd be a shame to keep such things under wraps. Basically, enjoy your body before gravity takes its toll.

However, though the body can be tastefully displayed, there are a great number of indecent acts of exposure. Take into account the disastrous results of sagging your pants. If you wish to walk around with the crotch to your pants right around your knees, then by all means do. But once it starts to infringe upon my life, I take offense.

Case in point: You're in class one day minding your own business, still stuck on 14 Across in the daily crossword. Then out of the corner of your eye you catch it. You think, "Wait a minute, this just cannot be." But it is. You rub your eyes once, twice, but it is not a trick of light from the flickering fluorescent bulbs on high. You have just been another unlikely victim of "plumber's cleavage."

It's repulsive and demoralizing, but you can't tear yourself away. Like a bystander at a train wreck, you can't not look at it. The people around you are snickering. Then after a while, the novelty wears off and you are faced with the prospect of having to see things only a proctologist should be subjected to for the rest of the period. Hoping against hope that his pants will miraculously rise up, you look around in the meantime for any brave soul to stop the madness. Yet no one does, and you must suffer in silence.

With all these crimes against aesthetic value, one would think action would be in order.

If nothing else, students should create a fashion task force made up of a select team of tragically hip individuals. This team of people - those who own more than one Radio compact disc, who think Rolling Stone has sold out, and own an exorbitant amount of black - would scout around campus for poor souls who couldn't find their way around an issue of Vogue.

Until a time when society realizes the importance of real-life fashion police, we are left to our own judgment. You're free to dress as you please, but remember, the rest of us have to look at you.

Susan Bonicillo owns a pair of pink neon fishnets and purple plaid bell-bottoms and is not afraid to use them. She can be reached at letters@wildcat.arizona.edu.