My college organizes an annual fest, the primary goal of which is to distract its’ students from the exams that are (intentionally?) scheduled a couple of days after said fest ends, only to then reprimand them for not performing well at academics.
The crown jewel of this garish and loud cluster of events held over a period of three days or so, is the Fashion Show. Contrary to what you may be conditioned to imagine, ours, is a show about which year/batch, can stitch, glue, pin or tie satin, paper and other miscellaneous art and craft supplies (because, cheap) of various harsh colours into perfectly horrid outfits, that reveal just about enough body surface area for the girls to annually reestablish their right as the most attractive female in the course. It also happens to be the ideal event to participate in if you are looking to change your Facebook display photo to something that will fetch a significant amount of attention, and hence ensure online attention for a couple of days, resulting in a false sense of happiness.
Of these girls, there are two major types. The first type being the pretty ones, who needless to say, fulfill all three basic requirements of attractive, skinny, and tall. They’re legitimate model material and are also very rare, averaging around one per batch of 100 students, or even less. The second, and most interesting type are the slightly damaged ones, lacking in any one of the three basic qualities. These are either pretty girls who didn’t lose their freshman fifteen, and have now conveniently converted themselves to the school of thought that believes in men who love curves and flesh etc and consequently feel that participating in the fashion show will help dispel preconceived notions about “size” and “beauty”. In this category you may also find skinny and tall girls that got a little short-changed in the face department, who vehemently believe that fashion is all about the walk and the attitude, resulting in comical overcompensation behaviour on stage.
When it comes to boys in the fashion show, they’re usually the class homosexual (the one with the most make up on), or the guy that needs to let everyone know that he works out (the one with the least clothing) or the one that just got dragged into the storm of glitter (the one that looks the most stoned).
The entire event is judged by professors, who have to sit through the entire event without breaking down into tears or laughter. The music is almost entirely composed of poorly mixed skrillex playing on shoddy speakers that our college barely managed to afford. What bothers me most, is how my colleagues manage to walk up to the front of the stage and almost on the judges table, do a little twirl or something along the lines of sexy (like a little girly half squat with the bum facing the audience?), only to return to class the next day and pretend like none of it ever happened except of course for the splotch of glitter on your collarbone that you won’t wash (at least not willingly) for the next day or two, because let’s face it, it’s your best chance at a conversation and you’re lonely.
About the author: The author is silently watching and judging you. Yes, you look fat in that.. She is a student of Manipal College of Dental Sciences, Manipal.