Ariane de Gennaro

I grew up wearing hand-me-downs and I loved it. When one of my two older brothers had an article of clothing I really liked, I would patiently await the day they outgrew it.

My fashion sensibilities were dictated by two guiding principles. First, if I liked something, I wanted to wear it — especially if it was orange. And second, I thought shopping was incredibly boring. Hence, my love for hand-me-downs.

I am sadly too tall now for their leftover clothes, but I still have not developed any real sense of fashion. 

Before starting college, I realized I needed to update my wardrobe. So I went to Target and bought a cart’s worth of plain t-shirts to pair with my generic khakis. I even threw in a couple of long-sleeved shirts to keep things interesting. But nobody cares about shirts anyways.

As fall begins, so does sweatshirt season, and that’s a thrill. I have six sweatshirts — seven if you count the fleece I only wear in my room — that I cycle through on a regular basis. As boring as the rest of my wardrobe is, these bad boys are, not to toot my own horn, quite exciting.

The roster: orange tie-dye, blue tie-dye, white with black text, Yale in blue, another blue and orange-pinkish with dinosaurs. Of these, the tie-dye pieces — the orange one specifically — are by far the most well-known among my friends.

The origin story of these incomprehensible fashion choices is somewhat embarrassing, but I think it’s a necessary detail. 

It began, as so much of my life does, with orange. My mom bought the orange tie-dye sweatshirt for me as a gift because she knows I love the color. But for a long time, it sat unworn in my closet. It was too audacious, too much for modest little Andrew.

And then, one mid-COVID Saturday morning, my most bizarre tradition began. I woke up feeling a little glum. The combination of the pandemic and the college admissions process was wearing me down. So I decided I needed to wear happier clothes. I put on jeans for the first time in four years and complemented them with orange tie-dye. I listened to a Bea Miller song at the recommendation of a friend and went for a walk.

The vibes were great. And so every Saturday for the rest of my senior year of high school, I put on orange tie-dye, jeans and Bea Miller in an effort — and a successful one at that — to gaslight myself into a happier mood. A ludicrous tradition was born, but I loved it.

The other cheery sweatshirts joined the wardrobe at various points after that. I began to feel more confident wearing outfits beyond just the most generic selections possible. And during that transformation, the orange tie-dye began to transcend mere Saturday attire.

By the time I arrived on campus, I had my cycle of sweatshirts. They quickly became associated with my identity. I quickly realized that there are not very many extra-large orange tie-dye hoodies at Yale. My sweatshirts made me stand out in a way that clothing very rarely has.

I don’t know exactly how to interpret the meaning of my sweatshirt-wearing habits.

On the one hand, they represent a continuation of my disdain for fashion. Because there are so few options and I cycle through them thoughtlessly, this routine is part of my eagerness to avoid making choices about my outfits. 

However, their distinctiveness and their connection to my personality is something entirely new. When I see an old friend’s face light up now as they see the famous — or in the eyes of some, infamous — orange tie-dye for the first time this school year, it brings me immense joy. And when I look back at old photos or catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I can’t help but smile a little.

These sweatshirts have come to mean more to me than any piece of clothing should mean to anyone. They represent a kind of joy, a kind of confidence in my uniqueness, that I can’t quite justify.

I don’t wear the same thing every Saturday anymore, and I don’t listen to the same music on loop. That was a moment of pandemic-and-college-process-induced insanity.

But I look back on that time with gratitude for giving me the chance to experiment with my “fit” a little bit more. And I know that the orange tie-dye — even as the drawstrings begin to fray and the hints of Franzia stains linger — will remain a staple for years to come.

It’s just a sweatshirt, yes, but is it really?