Last week, our Editor-In-Chief, Samantha received a "What Not to Wear" style closet makeover.
The Chunky Sneaker. The Dad Tennis Shoe. The Fila. Since the emergence of the big sneaker trend about two years ago, there has been a considerable amount of debate surrounding this reemerging look. Is it kind of … cool? Or, does it need to die?
Our personal styles mean so much to every one of us, even if we don’t always sport it in the most trendy or lavish ways. Our style is the product of our ever-changing environments. As The Student’s new Style Editor, I hope to give our audience some insight about how Miami has shaped the way we dress and personify ourselves — for better or worse — because my style has been affected by it firsthand.
From first through eighth grade, I attended a Catholic school that required a strict uniform: white polo shirt, khaki pants and brown or black shoes. And for those eight years, my sense of fashion told a story of imprisonment and boredom. And, when I eventually graduated and attended a public high school, I felt like I was being thrown to the wolves. Don’t get me wrong, freshman year I wasn’t showing up to class looking like a slob, but I may or may not have owned a pair of green plaid Sperrys that I would match with my black Reebok ankle socks and cargo shorts.
First-year Tori Rammelsberg first posted a photo of her intricate makeup look on VSCO in 2018. Since then, she has continued to post on the photography app regularly. But now, this artistic individual with a knack for photography struggles to stray away from the label society has given girls like Rammelsberg who use the app. The app, formerly used for artistic photography, has been flooded with scrunchies, Birkenstocks and Fjallraven Kanken backpacks. While most of these brands have been popular for several years, put together they form the ingredients for the internet’s latest aesthetic: “VSCO girl.”
What’s trending in men’s fashion on Miami University’s campus? You may not have guessed it, but luxury athleisure and it’s main brand ambassador, Lululemon, dominate the streets of Oxford. I was determined to find out why.
I was packing to return to Oxford from spring break last month when I stumbled upon, in my closet at home, something I'd once thought to have been a relic of the past.
It's a tale as old as time. The moment the leaves fall to the ground and the pumpkin spice lattes emerge, women around the world begin to scour their Pinterest boards for ideas for Halloween costumes. And more often than not, many of these costume ideas follow the same theme: Slutty version of (insert common household concept here).
Miami's campus on Monday mornings and Uptown on Saturday nights are starkly different environments. I guarantee students are having significantly less fun walking to their 8:30 a.m. classes than standing out on the patio at Brick.
I went back to my mom's hometown of Rockford, Illinois this weekend for my late grandfather's estate sale. As I was sorting through his closet, I was captivated by cabi hats, brightly colored blazers, fisherman sweaters, bomber jackets and other clothing items that seemed to cover every range of fashion from the last five decades.
In my house, back home in the suburbs of Chicago, there's a room off to the side of the staircase on the second floor. We call it the Secret Closet, but it's neither a secret nor, really, a closet.
He stares in the mirror, his friends waiting in the next room as he gets ready for the night. His eyes fixated on his problem areas, such as the second chin forming around his neck, the tiny fat on his lower belly, the line of pimples on his forehead and the puff ball in his hair that never likes to stay straight. He flexes his arms so they look less like twigs, and sucks in his gut so the fat does not show. Then he gets dressed.
Recent recasting in the Department of Theatre has stirred discussion of an elephant in the room: Miami's lack of racial diversity.